Kimberly
The room was quiet, too quiet.
I sat there for what felt like hours, unmoving, staring at the same spot on the carpet while my fingers absently brushed over my stomach. I couldn’t tell if I was imagining the changes in my body or if they were real—if something inside me had already begun to shift. But I could feel it, somehow. A subtle weight. A terrifying promise.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
And that thought both steadied and shattered me.
Kendrick’s voice still echoed in my head — “I control what’s mine.” The way he’d said it. So certain. So final. Like there was no room for argument, no space left for me to breathe on my own.
He never asked. He only declared.
I used to think the silence was a sanctuary, a place I could retreat into when the world was too loud. But here, now
