“You’re safe,” he says. “Come here.”
I go. Of course I go. He holds me until the thunder outside fades.
I fall asleep againafter we snuggle for a while in bed and wake up feeling heavy; my breasts feel tender and very full. My nipples are sensitive, the weight of my supply pressing into me. Erik notices before I speak.
“You’re aching.” Not a question.
“A little.” He’s already heating the compress, already engaged in his usual task of creating a sense of calm amidst chaos.
“I don’t think I can do the full shift today,” I admit.
“You’re not going to. Leander can handle the half day, and you have been doing a fantastic job growing your online storefront, which you’re able to work on from here.”
He cups my cheek. Firm. Decisive. “From now on, you only work mornings at the store, except when you feel unwell, like today. You can spend no more than three hours at the store. The rest of the time is remote, here, for your online storefront."
“That’s not fair to Leander.”
“He’s thriving,” Erik says simply. “And he likes protecting your space.”
My heart softens. “He does?”
“He’s a Halvorsen,” Erik adds with a faint smirk. “They come wired that way.”
I laugh, then wince as the ache pulses again.
“Compress,” he orders gently. “Then pump.”
I nod with a smile and obey.
I’m mid-session,the pump humming quietly, when the loft door buzzes. Erik answers without hesitation. His voice shifts, warm and familial. “Hello, Grace.”
My smile widens. She walks in glowing, hair pulled up, cheeks pink, hands resting on the swell of her nineteen-week baby bump.
“You look incredible,” I say, turning the pump off as Erik tactfully excuses himself to “do some work” in his office.
Grace grins. "The energy of the second trimester is intense. I feel like I could jog here.”
“You don’t jog.” I quip with a chuckle.
“I know,” she laughs. “But I could… well, if it wouldn't be too uncomfortable," she says as she rubs the swell of her lower belly.
She sits beside me, one hand absently stroking her stomach. It’s a small gesture, soft and maternal, and something deep in my chest aches with longing I didn’t expect.
“You’re doing really well,” she says, nodding toward the nearly filled bottles on the table. “It appears that your intake has increased compared to last week.”
“Almost fourteen ounces a day on both breasts,” I say quietly. “Maybe more.”
Her eyes widen. “Claire… that’s amazing.”
“Is it?” I whisper. “Is it really okay?”
Grace’s hand finds mine. Warm. Reassuring.
“It’s more than okay. It’s beautiful. You’re building something with Erik, something that the two of you consented to together.”
Consented. The word hits harder than I expected.
I toy with the edge of my shirt. “Before you became pregnant, did you ever want more?”
