“He is in prison. Life sentence.”
My fingers tightened unconsciously around the fabric of the duvet.
“It’s only fair he knows I’m carrying his child.”
I paused.
“But I don’t care if he wants anything to do with it.”
My jaw set firmly.
“I’m having this baby.”
The declaration wasn’t about him.
It wasn’t about reconciliation.
It wasn’t about leverage.
It was about ownership over my body and my choice.
Petros nodded once — decisive. “Then I will have the message relayed to him.”
His expression turned practical again.
“Discreetly.”
He began to stand.
“Wait.”
My voice stopped him.
He paused mid-rise — watching me carefully.
I hesitated.
The vulnerability rushed up before I could suppress it.
“I’m scared.”
The words came out smaller than I expected.
Petros slowly lowered himself back into the chair.
His gaze softened instantly. “Of what, ma’am?”
I pressed my palm against my stomach.
The gesture was instinctive.
Protective. Terrified.
“Of losing this one too.”
My voice cracked slightly.
“Of history repeating itself.”
