The nursery felt warmer these days.
I spent most afternoons there, sitting in the rocking chair with my hands resting on my belly, feeling the baby move more strongly now. Each kick was a quiet conversation between us a reminder that life was continuing, no matter how complicated everything had become.
Daddy had been different since the night of the boat. Gentler in some ways. More watchful in others. He still kept me close, still enforced the rules, but there was a new layer of patience in how he handled my moods.
He found me in the nursery again that evening, carrying a tray with fresh fruit and herbal tea. He set it down on the small table beside the chair and knelt in front of me, resting his head against my belly like he often did.
“Feeling any better today?” he asked softly, his
