There’s a lingering warmth under my skin, a slow, steady ache that isn’t pain, not anymore. It’s something deeper than that. Something that feels like being brought back into myself instead of pulled away from it.
Like I exist in my body again. Fully.
I shift slightly in the chair at the table, my laptop open in front of me, fingers moving lazily over the keys as I fall back into the rhythm I’d found last night. The words come easier today. Not perfect. Not clean. But real.
That’s what matters.
Real.
I can feel it as I write, everything I’ve been carrying, everything that’s been sitting just under the surface, starting to loosen, starting to move. It isn’t pretty, and it isn’t neat, but it’s mine. It’s how I’m making sense of what happened.
How I’m taking it back.
A soft buzz against the table pulls me out of it.
I blink, my gaze shifting to my phone where it lights up with a notification.
Appointment reminder. For a second, I just stare at it. Then it clicks. The pregnancy appointment. Next week.
The word pregnancy lands differently this time. Not distant. Not abstract. Not something I’m still trying to wrap my head around in theory.
Real.
My hand drifts almost unconsciously to my stomach, fingers resting there lightly as something small and strange twists through me. Not fear. Not exactly.
Awareness.
And then, almost on cue, my body reminds me.
A wave of nausea rolls through me, sudden and sharp enough that I have to pause, my breath catching slightly as I close my eyes and lean back a fraction in the chair.
“Hey.”
Zach’s voice is immediate. Soft. Close.
His hand comes to the back of my neck, grounding, steady.
“You okay?”
I nod, swallowing slowly, letting the feeling pass before I open my eyes again.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Just… a little nauseous.”
His expression shifts instantly, focused, attentive in that way that’s so completely him.
“I’ll make you some ginger tea,” he says without hesitation. “It’ll help.”
I nod again, softer this time.
“Okay.”
He brushes a kiss to my temple before moving toward the kitchen, already shifting into action, already thinking ahead of what I might need.
I watch him for a second.
Then my gaze drifts across the table.
Jackson is sitting opposite me, his phone in his hand, his thumb moving over the screen but slower than usual, like he’s not actually seeing anything he’s scrolling through.
