Trimester Two

February 20, 2025 — 7:00 AMRockwell, Their Apartment — Kitchen

The kitchen smelled like toasted pandesal and fried eggs. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, catching motes of flour dust on the counter where Angel was carefully buttering a slice of bread. She was still in one of Matthew's oversized shirts—comfort took priority now, especially on mornings like this.

The second trimester had brought a subtle but definite shift. Her energy was back. The nausea had finally let up. She wasn't hiding her pregnancy anymore, and her bump—small but visible—was now part of her silhouette.

Matthew stepped out of the bedroom, hair damp from the shower, t-shirt wrinkled, and eyes still half-shut. He froze mid-step when he saw her.

"You're glowing," he said, voice groggy but sincere.

"I'm buttering toast."

"Same thing."

She smiled and slid a plate toward him.