The tension on the island refused to fade.
Even though the boat had left and no new threats had appeared, the air felt charged — like we were all waiting for the next storm. I spent most of my time in the nursery now, finding comfort in the small, safe space we had created for our baby. The gentle kicks had become my only constant, a quiet reminder that life was still moving forward.
Daddy had become even more attentive. He rarely left my side for long, always finding reasons to touch me a hand on my belly, fingers tracing my collar, soft kisses on my temple. It was both comforting and suffocating.
He found me in the nursery again that afternoon, carrying a glass of fresh juice. He set it down and knelt in front of the rocking chair, resting his head against my belly like he often did.
