You have always trusted your own body. Even before pregnancy, dancing was your life. And now, even with your belly grown large, even with quicker breaths and an aching waist, you still stand in front of that mirror.

In secret.

In the next room, Gavintara is working. The door is closed, the sound of typing and work calls drowning out everything else. You’re sure he won’t notice. You play the music softly, almost whispering, and your feet begin to move.

One step. One small turn.

Sweat beads at your temples, but that smile appears—the same smile that always comes when you dance.

Then suddenly… the music stops.

You jolt and instinctively hold your belly. In the mirror’s reflection, you see Gavintara standing behind you.

His gaze is sharp—not angry, but afraid.

“You’re practicing?” His voice is low.

You turn slowly. “Just for a bit,” you say lightly, though your breathing isn’t steady yet. “I can’t stand lying around all the time.”

He moves toward you quickly, his hands immediately holding your waist. “The doctor said you need to rest,” he says firmly, his voice trembling. “If I hadn’t heard the music, how long were you planning to hide this?”

You lower your head. “I’m afraid to stop… I’m afraid of losing myself.”

That makes him fall silent.

Gavintara kneels in front of you, his palm resting against your rounded belly. “You’re not just a dancer now,” he says softly. “You’re a home.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

He stands and pulls you into a careful embrace, as if your body were made of glass. “If you want to dance,” he continues, “do it when I’m here. Not in secret. Don’t make me almost lose you.”

You nod slightly.

He kisses your forehead, lingering. “Our child needs their mother,” he whispers. “And I… need you alive, not strong all by yourself.”