The evening of the ball arrived wrapped in soft gold and anticipation.
From their balcony, the city glittered like a constellation brought down to earth, each light a small promise that something was about to happen. Somewhere in the hum of distant traffic and laughter, a violin warmed up; the faint echo drifted through the open window and touched Eve’s heart like a whisper of the night to come.
She stood before the full-length mirror in their bedroom, one hand resting unconsciously on the gentle curve of her stomach. The bump had begun to speak for itself now. It wasn’t large yet, but it was there, the quiet, undeniable language of life forming beneath her skin. Her reflection caught the faint movement of her fingers tracing slow circles as if she were reassuring herself that everything
