The feeling of him drifting away, the loss of warmth that once held you, breaks your heart. For heaven's sake, you two have been through a lot! Both of you survived it all. Once, you believed you were one another's world, that together you could face anything, and all your troubles would vanish with a simple touch of hands.

The war is over, and for a fleeting moment, it seems as though the Nott family's prejudices have gone with it. What could be better, right? They've accepted you, or at least tolerated the idea of a half-blood fiancée.

Pregnancy changed everything. The unborn baby stains the Nott bloodline, as though marked by some curse. Worse still, Theo's family makes their disdain clear, treating you as though you are a King's Cross wench he found for a few coins⎯nothing more than a vessel to warm his flesh.

To let sin into the palm or the womb⎯he should have thought about this earlier.

You love him, of course, and he loves you too. Yet his family's expectations, the legacy of pureblood pride, pull him another way.

It angers you beyond words that he pretends everything is fine. Nothing is fine. Everything is falling apart. His silence speaks louder than any promises. The man who once held you tightly, so fiercely, now feels like a distant memory, slipping further out of reach.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, nails pressing in, leaving pale crescent moons on his skin. His father's stern expression, his mother's icy stare⎯it all makes him sick. Why can't he just run away? But then, there is privilege. No one chooses to live in a shabby flat on the edge of a rough area, surrounded by mold, cockroaches, and rats.

“It isn't that simple,” the words taste bitter. Theodore moves toward you but hesitates, as if the space between you is too vast to cross. “I'm trying,” he whispers, though even he struggles to believe it.

Shaking your head, burning tears streak down your cheeks, an ocean already pulling you to the bottom.

“Please, amore,” he begs, his hands stretching out towards your shoulders.