Elena
The nausea came suddenly.
One moment I was still standing in the living room, the next my stomach turned sharply, and I rushed toward the small bathroom near the couch. I barely made it in time.
I didn’t even close the door.
Adrian was already there. One hand gently gathered my hair away from my face, the other moving in slow, steady circles against my back. He didn’t rush me. He didn’t speak much. He simply stayed.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured quietly.
My body shuddered once more before the wave finally passed. Adrian didn’t let go until my breathing evened out.
Soft footsteps followed.
Haille stood at the doorway, holding a glass of warm water with both hands. Her brows were drawn together in concentration, the way they always were when she was trying to be helpful.
“Here, Daddy.” she said softly.
Adrian smiled at her. “Thanks, bug.”
She handed him the glass carefully, and he helped me straighten, guiding the rim to my lips.
“Slowly,” he said.
I took a sip. Then another. The nausea eased.
“This pregnancy is so different,” I muttered, resting my forehead briefly against his shoulder. “Earlier I just walked into the kitchen and felt sick immediately.”
Adrian huffed softly. “Looks like this baby has strong opinions. Definitely not a fan of kitchens.”
I laughed—a real laugh, despite myself.
He helped me stand, his arm firm around my waist, steady without making me feel fragile.
Haille looked up at me, concern clear in her eyes. “Mommy, are you okay?”
I smiled at her. “I’m okay, sweetheart. This is normal. A lot of pregnant moms feel like this.”
She nodded, then said, “I’m happy the baby is coming... but I wish you didn’t have to feel sick.”
Adrian reached out and ruffled her hair gently, a quiet smile on his face.
I reached out and brushed my thumb over her cheek. “That’s very sweet of you,” I said. “Mommy will be okay.”
She nodded again, reassured. “Okay,” she said.
I settled onto the couch, and Haille sat close beside me, leaning her shoulder against my arm.
Adrian didn’t sit. He stayed standing near the couch, close enough that I could feel his presence without looking at him. “Do you want to eat something?” he asked.
“Fruit,” I said. “Something cold.”
“Alright.”
A second later, he was already heading to the kitchen, opening the fridge, moving with quiet familiarity as he pulled out containers and a cutting board.
I watched him.
