XXXII

The loose hospital gown slid from Sasha's shoulders, the thin fabric whispering faintly against her skin as it slipped down her arms and pooled soundlessly at her feet. The cool air of the sterile room prickled against her exposed skin, raising goosebumps along her arms, but she scarcely felt it.

Her attention was fixed solely on the mirror in front of her, on the reflection of the woman staring back at her. Same delicate features. Same tired, hollowed eyes. But there was something else now—a shift so subtle yet undeniable, as if the person in the glass wasn't quite the same woman who had walked into the hospital.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry, and reached for the sink, her movements slow and deliberate. Twisting the faucet, she let the icy water rush over her trembling fingers, grounding herself in its sharp chill. For a moment, she stood there, eyes unfocused, listening to the sound of the water pouring steadily.

Then, with a sharp breath, she splashed it onto her face, the cold shock jolting her senses awake. Droplets clung to her lashes, sliding down her cheeks in thin, quiet rivulets—almost like tears, though she wasn't sure when she'd last truly cried. She let them fall, almost hoping they would wash away something invisible, something heavy and tangled deep inside her that refused to loosen.

Her hand drifted, almost without thought, down to her abdomen, fingers lightly pressing against the soft, borrowed fabric of her shirt. There, beneath her palm, lay something fragile yet powerful—a fluttering warmth spreading slowly in her chest. Like the faintest hint of sunlight breaking through a sky heavy with storm clouds.

**My baby.**

The thought came unbidden, soft and tentative yet carrying the weight of something life-altering.

Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching as she let the words settle in her mind. Her baby.

A life growing quietly within her. A heartbeat distinct from her own, steady and new.

Her fingers traced small, slow circles over the slight curve of her belly, as if trying to feel him through her skin. She wondered, her throat tightening, **How tiny was he right now? Was he aware of her presence? Could he feel her touch, sense her voice?**

The questions drifted through her mind like whispers, fragile and hesitant, mingling with the swirl of wonder and fear rising in her chest.

And then, another thought surfaced—a question she hadn't let herself dwell on before.

**Was it a boy or a girl?**

She had no answer, not really. The doctor hadn't said. But something deep within her, something instinctual, murmured softly—**boy.**

Her eyes fluttered shut, and without meaning to, she conjured an image. A small child, dark tousled hair falling messily across his forehead, sharp, watchful eyes that seemed far older than his years.

Her breath hitched.

Darius.

It struck her so vividly, the resemblance etched so clearly in her mind's eye that it felt like fate had already written it—had already carved his presence into their child.

Would he have his father's quiet intensity, that unspoken authority that made others fall silent in his wake? That smirk Darius wore so rarely, the one that barely curved his lips but carried an entire world of meaning? Would their son inherit that same unwavering strength, the kind of strength that could bend the world around him without uttering a single word?

Her chest constricted painfully, her reflection blurring before her eyes.

She missed him.

God, she missed him more than she could ever bring herself to admit aloud.

The ache of his absence pressed against her ribs, spreading into a hollow space that nothing else could seem to fill. A space where he should be.

Her hand trembled as she pulled away from the sink, wiping her damp face with the corner of a towel. She glanced back at the mirror once more, the fragile threads of her thoughts tightening. Without thinking, without allowing herself time to reconsider, she reached for her phone lying on the counter.

Her thumb hovered over the screen before she began to type, each letter appearing like a quiet confession.

**Baby boy names.**

The search results loaded instantly, an endless list scrolling down her screen. Names she couldn't focus on, couldn't connect with. Her gaze flicked past them, one after another, until her eyes paused on a single word.

**Damien.**

She whispered it softly, as if testing its sound on her lips.

**Damien.**

It felt right—strong without being harsh, steady without being distant. A name that felt like Darius. Like something he would have chosen, something simple but laced with power.

Her hand instinctively returned to her belly, cradling the slight swell protectively.

**Damien.**

A faint, almost wistful smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, the first smile that hadn't felt forced in weeks. For the first time, the overwhelming loneliness in her chest eased, replaced by something warmer. Something like hope.

She wanted to tell Darius. Wanted to see the flicker in his eyes, to hear him say the name aloud, maybe even see that rare smile touch his lips. She wanted to share this moment—the quiet realization that their child wasn't just a secret she carried, but something real, something inevitable.

But he wasn't here.

That thought dug deep, hollowing her out all over again.

Swallowing hard, she locked her phone and slipped it back onto the counter, forcing herself to pull away from the mirror, away from the pull of what-ifs.

She stepped back into the quiet hospital room, her hospital gown now replaced with her own clothes, though her hands kept unconsciously drifting to her abdomen.

The doctor greeted her with a gentle smile, nodding toward the chair beside the bed.

"Come, sit. Let's begin with a quick check-up," she said, her voice soft but professional as she flipped open Sasha's chart.

Sasha obeyed silently, perching on the edge of the chair, her fingers lacing tightly over her stomach. The scent of antiseptic lingered faintly in the air, oddly comforting in its sterility.

She barely registered the soft prick of the needle as the nurse drew her blood, her gaze distant, focused inward.

After a moment, the doctor spoke again, her tone warm but careful.

"Your reports will be ready by tomorrow," she explained, glancing over the notes. "But based on your ultrasound and current symptoms, you're officially in your second month of pregnancy."

The words settled around her like something solid, something unshakable.

**Two months.**

Two months she'd been carrying this life, unknowingly nurturing something so fragile yet fierce inside her.

The doctor's voice gentled further. "I'll prescribe vitamins to support you—and the baby. Take them every day without fail. You'll also need to eat well, prioritize rest, and most importantly… avoid stress."

Her words lingered. Rest. Nutrition. No stress.

Sasha nodded slowly, committing each instruction to memory like a quiet vow.

Not for herself.

But for him.

For Damien.

Her fingers pressed a little more firmly against her belly, the gesture protective, almost instinctual—as if her touch alone could build a shield around the life growing inside her. She breathed out slowly, making a silent promise in the quiet of the room, one she sealed deep within herself.

**Damien.**

The name felt sacred on her tongue, a secret she carried beneath her skin.

She had someone to protect now.

Not just herself.

Not revenge, not survival—something far more fragile, far more precious.

And she would protect him.

At any cost.

By the time Sasha returned home, the exhaustion had sunk deeper than her muscles—it had found a home in her bones, heavy and persistent. She kicked her shoes off at the doorway, the sound echoing too loudly in the still apartment. Her purse slid from her shoulder, and she tucked it inside the small almirah near the entrance, shutting the door softly as if noise itself might disturb the fragile peace she clung to.

Without another thought, she moved toward the bathroom, her steps deliberate but weary.

The day clung to her like a second skin—grit, tension, the lingering residue of faces and voices she wished she could forget. She needed it gone. Needed to strip herself clean of all of it.

Steam billowed softly as she turned the shower on, the familiar scent of soap filling the air. She stepped beneath the stream, letting the warm water pour over her, tracing rivulets through her hair, down the slope of her shoulders, gliding over every curve.

Her fingers drifted to her lower belly, smoothing over the soft curve that was barely perceptible yet. Barely there, but so fiercely present to her.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

And in the darkness behind her lids, she saw him.

A tiny face, lips parted in wonder, delicate fingers curling instinctively around hers—small, perfect.

Then the image sharpened, twisted slightly—

Dark, unruly hair.

Piercing, calculating eyes.

A presence that filled a room without a word, a silent command threaded in his very existence.

She inhaled sharply, the air catching like a snag in her chest.

**Darius.**

His name rang louder than it should have, echoing beneath the steady rush of water, a whisper she couldn't drown out.

The vision felt so vivid, almost too real, like she could reach out and brush her fingertips across that familiar, unreadable expression.

Would her child have that same smirk?

That quiet tilt of the lips, revealing nothing, concealing everything?

Would he inherit that intensity—that quiet, magnetic strength that drew people in like moths to flame, whether they wanted to be or not?

Her breath trembled, and she let the wave of longing wash through her, raw and unfiltered.

For once, she didn't push it away.

She didn't retreat behind the iron walls she usually built around herself.

Instead, she let herself feel it.

And slowly, a softer image unfurled—

A pair of small, unsteady feet padding across polished wooden floors.

Tiny hands stretched outward, grabbing at the air, the sound of laughter ringing like sunlight, bright and wild.

He would stumble, catch himself, then try again.

Her son.

Her Damien.

Her hand pressed flat against her belly, and a warmth bloomed there, unlike anything she had ever known. A different kind of strength, deeper and quieter but unshakable.

She stayed under the spray longer than she intended, letting the warmth lull her, letting the weight of exhaustion slip away, replaced by something gentler, something steady.

It wasn't until the water cooled, a sharp chill nipping at her skin, that she blinked herself back to reality. She reached for the towel, wrapping it snugly around herself, the soft fabric grounding her.

In the dim light of her bedroom, she dressed in a loose cotton dress, the fabric airy against her still-damp skin. Hunger gnawed faintly at her, but tonight it was more than just a need to fill her stomach—it was a responsibility.

She stood in the small kitchen, moving slowly as she prepared a simple meal. Each bite felt deliberate, her thoughts circling endlessly back to the life within her. Every action, every decision—she wasn't just thinking of herself anymore. She was nourishing him.

After she finished, the evening folded in quiet around her, the hush of the apartment settling like a blanket.

She drifted to the window, drawn by the view stretched out before her.

The city pulsed in the distance, bathed in shades of violet and deep gold, lights flickering like scattered stars. A soft breeze threaded through the half-open pane, tugging at the loose strands of her damp hair.

But it wasn't the city that anchored her.

It wasn't the hush of the wind or the glow of headlights below.

It was the steady, gentle weight of her hand resting over her belly.

For the first time, she spoke aloud—soft, uncertain.

"Baby," she whispered, the word foreign yet achingly familiar on her lips. "Hi… your mumma is here."

A small, surprised chuckle escaped her, shaky and tender all at once.

It felt strange, talking to someone who couldn't yet hear her, who existed only as a flutter beneath her skin.

But the moment felt sacred, like something just for them—something no one else could touch.

Her fingers traced slow circles across her belly, featherlight.

"You're so small right now… but I already love you," she murmured, voice thick with something she couldn't quite name. The words wrapped around her, warm and heavy, settling into the hollow spaces inside her chest.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly, a lump forming that she struggled to swallow down.

She hesitated, heart pounding faintly beneath her ribs, before reaching for her phone on the nearby table.

Her fingers shook as she unlocked it, scrolling past old messages, until she found the video—

The one she had watched countless times before, unable to stop herself.

Her thumb hovered over the play button, lips parting.

She turned the screen gently toward her belly, her voice catching as she spoke.

"Look… this is your dad."

The video played quietly, familiar shadows moving across the screen.

For a heartbeat, she imagined her child seeing him too—watching alongside her, soaking in the presence of the man who had changed her life in ways she still struggled to reconcile.

Her chest ached, a painful clench she didn't bother hiding.

One day…

One day, she would hold Damien in her arms and show him more than just a video.

She would whisper his name aloud, no longer afraid.

**Damien.**

**My Damien.**

And no matter what darkness she had to walk through, no matter how much of herself she had to sacrifice—

She would protect him.

Always.