Had it been that long? She tried to think back and found the days blurring together in a haze of patient consultations and research reviews and late nights poring over medical texts in languages she was still learning to read.
“I’m fine,” she said, but even to her own ears it sounded hollow. “Really. It’s just… adjusting. New job, new planet, new everything. My body’s probably still acclimating to the local food or the atmospheric composition or something.”
His expression suggested he wasn’t convinced, but he let the matter drop—for now, at least. She recognized the look in his eyes, though. The quiet determination that said we will discuss this later, and you will not deflect me so easily.
She loved him for it, even when it was inconvenient.
“Come.” He took her bag from the desk, slinging it over his shoulder despite her half-hearted protest. “Dinner will not cook itself, and Tovek has been teaching me a new recipe. Somethingfrom the southern provinces, he said—his grandmother used to make it for him when he was young.”
“You’re learning to cook Ciresian food now?” The thought made her smile as they walked together through the medical center’s gleaming corridors, nodding at colleagues who had become familiar faces over the past three months. “What happened to the man who claimed he could barely operate a heating unit?”
“That man did not have a mate to impress.” His tail tightened briefly around her waist. “Or a son to feed. Motivation is a powerful teacher.”
Their house waseverything Melissa had never known she wanted.
Small by some standards—just three rooms on the ground floor with two more above—but perfectly sized for a family that was still learning its shape. The garden Director L’chong had promised sprawled behind it, a riot of unfamiliar plants that the previous owner had cultivated with obvious love. She was slowly learning their names, their needs, their cycles of blooming and dormancy.
Home, she thought as Becsul keyed in the entry code. This is what home feels like.
The interior was warm and welcoming, decorated in a blend of styles that reflected their unusual household. Ciresian textiles in deep jewel tones hung alongside Earth-style photographs—images she’d had printed from her datapad’s memory, reminders of the life she’d left behind. The furniture was sturdy and practical, chosen with Robbie’s increasingly mobile curiosity in mind.
Sarah and Katie lived just down the street, close enough for impromptu visits and shared meals. They’d fallen into an easy rhythm of mutual support—watching each other’s children, sharing cooking duties, providing the kind of companionship that Melissa hadn’t realized she’d been missing until she had it.
She settled Robbie into his play area, surrounded by the soft toys and sensory objects that kept him entertained, and watched as Becsul moved into the kitchen with the ease of long practice. He’d taken to cooking with surprising enthusiasm, approaching each recipe with the same tactical precision he brought to his work at the training facility.
“Tovek says the key is in the spice ratio.” He was already pulling ingredients from the preservation unit, his movements efficient and sure. “Too much vesh root and it overwhelms everything else. Too little and the dish lacks depth.”
“And you’re confident you got the ratio right?”
He shot her a look that was pure wounded dignity. “I took notes.”
Melissa laughed and settled onto one of the kitchen stools, content to watch him work. This—the domesticity, the comfortable silence punctuated by easy conversation, the knowledge that she had somewhere to be and someone to be there with—still felt precious. Still felt like something she had to remind herself was real.
Three months. Three months since they’d arrived on Trevelor, and every day she woke up grateful.
Becsul was explaining something about the protein content of the main ingredient when the nausea hit.
It came without warning—a sudden rolling wave that started in her stomach and climbed rapidly towards her throat. She barely made it to the small bathroom off the kitchen before she was retching, her body convulsing with a violence that left her shaking.
“Melissa!” Becsul was there in an instant, one hand bracing her shoulder while the other swept her hair back from her face. “What?—”
“I’m fine.” The words came out ragged, unconvincing. She gripped the edge of the basin and tried to catch her breath. “Just… give me a minute.”
He didn’t argue, just stayed close, his tail curving around her legs in silent comfort while she rode out the wave. When it finally passed, she straightened slowly, accepting the damp cloth he pressed into her hands.
“This is not fine.” His voice was tight with worry. “This is the opposite of fine.”
“It’s probably just—” She stopped.
Stared at her reflection in the small mirror above the basin.
Two weeks of nausea. Exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix. Food that doesn’t appeal. Missing my period…
The thought hit her with the force of a physical blow.
She’d been so busy—so caught up in the newness of everything, the demands of her job, the adjustments of her new life—that she hadn’t even noticed. Hadn’t connected the symptoms that, in any of her patients, would have been blindingly obvious.
“Melissa?” Becsul’s hands were on her shoulders, turning her gently to face him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
