Right around the time my child would be born.
I reached out slowly, my fingers brushing over the damp surface of the leaves—cool, fresh, grounding.
The scent lingered in the air.
Clean. Creamy.
Almost intoxicating.
It settled something inside me.
A quiet relief.
A fragile kind of calm.
I inhaled deeply, letting the fragrance fill my lungs, steadying the nausea that had become a constant companion these days.
My other hand rested instinctively over my stomach.
Round. Heavy.
Would my baby love this smell?
The thought came soft, unguarded.
Would he grow up surrounded by this scent and come to recognize it as something safe?
Would he press his tiny face into these petals one day and smile the way I did now?
The idea made something tighten in my chest.
Something dangerously close to hope.
A future.
A small, fragile one.
But still—a future.
“You should thank me you’re still alive, Elena.”
The voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
Sharp. Uninvited.
My eyes snapped open.
I turned.
Violet stood at the edge of the garden path.
And for a moment, I barely recognized her.
She was too thin.
Almost gaunt—like something inside her had been slowly eaten away from the inside out.
And yet—
