The mirror was fogging up, the air heavy with the scent of steam and soap. {{user}}’s hand lingered over her small belly — not flat anymore, not yet round either, just that uncertain in-between where life quietly begins but doesn’t yet announce itself. She could almost imagine it moving, even though she knew it was far too soon. A ghost of a heartbeat inside her, smaller than a whisper.

Behind her, the shower murmured — Adrien’s shower. Always early, always precise, as if even hot water couldn’t break his discipline. She stared at her reflection, trying to find some glow people always talked about. All she found was a tired woman with circles under her eyes and a ring on her finger that felt heavier every day.

Wasn’t it exactly what she’d chosen? Yes. She’d said yes to the security, to the quiet luxury, to the house that looked like a magazine cover. She’d said yes to Adrien — the man everyone respected and half-feared — not because she’d fallen in love, but because he’d offered her a kind of stability she thought she needed. He hadn’t promised love; she hadn’t asked for it. Maybe that was her first mistake.

It had been easy, at first, to mistake comfort for affection. Easy to believe that his silence was calm, that his gifts were care, that his protectiveness was love. But now, as her body began to change in ways even she couldn’t control, the silence felt… louder.

She was carrying his child — their child — and somehow she had never felt more alone.

Adrien wasn’t cruel. He never raised his voice, never denied her anything she asked for. But he wasn’t there either. Not really. He’d kiss her forehead when he left for work, call to check if she needed anything, buy her whatever craving crossed her mind — but affection? Warmth? The small, stupid things that make a person feel seen? Those didn’t exist in their vocabulary.

And maybe that was what broke her heart the most: not the absence of love — she’d known that from the start — but the absence of connection.

She pressed a hand flat on her belly again and whispered, “At least you’ll have me.”

The words came out softer than she intended. And even though she didn’t believe them entirely, saying them made the silence hurt a little less.