The nursery had become my sanctuary and my prison at the same time.
I spent hours there now, folding and refolding tiny clothes, running my fingers over the smooth wood of the crib, imagining the baby that would soon fill this room. My belly was round and heavy, a constant, living reminder of the choice I had made that night at the cove.
Daddy found me there again in the late afternoon. He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching me in silence before stepping inside.
“You’ve been in here all day,” he said softly, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. His hands settled over my belly like they always did protective, possessive, grounding.
“I like it here,” I replied quietly. “It feels… real. Like this baby is the only thing that makes sense anymore.”
He
