A faint pause.
“I will handle it.”
He turned toward the door.
Walked with steady confidence.
Even age hadn’t diminished his presence.
He paused with his hand resting on the knob and glanced back at me one more time.
“Rest now.”
His voice softened again.
“You’re carrying more than a child.”
His expression shifted — something almost reverent flickering across his face.
“You’re carrying hope.”
He held my gaze deliberately.
“Don’t forget that.”
Then he opened the door and stepped out.
The soft click as it closed behind him echoed through the room.
Silence returned.
But it wasn’t empty.
It wasn’t suffocating.
It felt... charged.
I exhaled slowly — lungs releasing tension I hadn’t realized I was holding.
I pushed myself back fully onto the bed.
The duvet felt cool against my skin.
Comforting.
The room smelled faintly of lavender from the diffuser sitting on the dresser.
I turned onto my back and let my hands drift downward instinctively.
They rested over my lower abdomen.
My palms were open.
Fingers splayed.
As if I could physically feel the life developing beneath my skin.
I began rubbing slow circles.
