chapter 80: One word and she stopped talking to me

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Chapter 80 – Damon's POV

"One Word and She Stopped Talking to Me"

If anyone had told me that Arya would look this radiant five months into pregnancy, I would've laughed in their face.

Not because I didn't think she could.

But because the last few months had been... brutal.

The nausea, the migraines, the mood swings, the "I-hate-everything-and-everyone" days — I lived through all of it. Hell, I survived it. But now?

Now she glowed.

Her cheeks were fuller, her skin practically sparkled, and her eyes… they were soft again. The tired weight in them had faded. She smiled more. Walked lighter. And every time she laughed — which was a lot more these days — it felt like sunlight poured into the room.

Yeah, this was the part people talked about.

The second trimester sweetness.

The part where you think, Maybe we can do this again someday.

Except… she was still Arya. And pregnancy hadn't dulled her spark one bit.

If anything, it sharpened it.

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I came home from work and found her standing in the kitchen in one of my t-shirts, barefoot, holding a jar of pickles in one hand and a chocolate muffin in the other.

She was humming to herself, swaying from side to side. Belly rounding out beautifully beneath the shirt. Hair piled into a messy bun. A few crumbs on her lips.

And I swear, I fell in love all over again.

"Babe," I said, amused, "are you eating dessert and pickles?"

She turned around with a mischievous smile. "Baby wants both."

"Of course."

She handed me a bite of the muffin and took another crunchy bite of her pickle.

That should've been my warning.

The second I opened my mouth to be a smartass, I should've known.

But no. I had to joke.

"You know," I said, chuckling, "if you keep eating like this, I might have to start calling you chubby."

She froze mid-chew.

Her smile vanished.

And I swear, the temperature in the kitchen dropped by ten degrees.

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"What did you just say?" she asked, calmly… too calmly.

I blinked. "It was a joke."

Her eyes narrowed. "A joke."

"Yeah. You know. Ha-ha?"

She turned her back to me, grabbed the muffin, and walked to the couch without another word.

That was four hours ago.

She hadn't said a single thing to me since.

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I peeked into the living room.

She was curled up under the throw blanket, a bag of chips balanced on her belly, eyes glued to a drama show. And when I say glued, I mean ignoring-my-existence glued.

I walked over and dropped onto the couch beside her, placing my hand gently on her thigh.

Nothing.

I tried again. "You seriously gonna ignore me for one little joke?"

Still nothing.

"Babe… come on. You know I was just playing."

She picked up a chip. Slowly. Ate it.

Then muted the TV — not to talk to me. Just to listen to the drama louder on her phone.

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This woman was going to kill me.

I sighed and leaned closer, kissing her cheek. "You're not fat. You're glowing. You're beautiful. You're carrying my child, and I love you more than I have words for."

Still silence.

I kept going. "I'm an idiot. And a coward. And I should've known better than to joke about anything body-related while you're literally growing a human."

She finally looked at me.

One eyebrow raised. Arms crossed.

Progress.

"I was wrong," I said sincerely. "You're perfect. And if you want to eat pickles dipped in chocolate frosting every day until this baby comes out, I will personally keep them stocked."

Her lips twitched.

And just like that — my beautiful, hormonal, stubborn wife finally spoke.

"Good," she said. "Because we're out of frosting."

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Later that night, when we were curled in bed, I traced circles on her belly as she lay beside me, soft and warm.

"Still mad?" I whispered.

"No," she mumbled, half-asleep. "Just... don't call me fat again."

"Noted."

She turned her head toward me. "I know I'm bigger."

"You're pregnant."

"I know. It's just... weird. Seeing your body change. Not feeling like yourself."

I kissed her forehead. "I love every version of you. Especially this one."

She smiled faintly. "Even when I cry over muffins and threaten your life for calling me chubby?"

"Especially then."

We stayed quiet for a while.

Her breathing slowed. Mine followed.

And just before she drifted off, she whispered, "This baby's lucky."

I kissed her cheek. "We are."

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