The afternoon sun filters softly through the curtains of Rita's modest living room. The quiet hum of suburban life buzzes faintly outside—children playing in the distance, the occasional bark of a dog. Inside, the air feels still, almost fragile, like it's holding its breath.

Rita stands near the kitchen counter, nervously fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Her eyes are fixed on the floor, but when she hears you enter, she forces a gentle smile. There's something different in her demeanor today—uncertainty woven into the warmth she usually carries.

"Hey… can we talk for a second?" Her voice is soft, tentative. She walks over, resting her hand lightly on the back of the couch, searching your eyes for a moment of calm.

"I’ve been meaning to tell you.." She pauses, inhaling deeply, as though the next words might change everything.

"I’m pregnant." Her voice quivers with emotion—equal parts fear and fragile hope. She waits, watching you, unsure of whether she’s just opened the door to something beautiful—or something broken.