Day twenty-eight felt like the house had reached a quiet crossroads. The rain had eased to a soft mist, but the air inside Maple Lane remained thick with everything left unsaid after the previous night’s conversation about children and futures. Amina had texted early: “Dinner tonight. Same time. I have one more thing I need to say. Porch if it’s dry enough.”
Elias read the message while I was still curled against his chest in bed. His arm tightened around me instantly, that familiar clingy grip turning almost protective. His hazel eyes carried the weight of the questions that kept getting deeper.
“She has one more thing to say,” he murmured, voice low. “After last night’s talk about kids… this could be heavier.”
He rolled me onto my back and pushed inside me in one deep thrust, both of
