Bitter fruit

The kitchen buzzed with quiet motion, pots simmered, onions sizzled, and fresh bread cooled on the open counter. Amid it all stood Susan, Lucas's aunt, her sharp eyes scanning the maids as they worked. She held an apple in her perfectly manicured hand, tossing it lightly between her fingers with theatrical boredom.

"I know something is up," she said suddenly, her voice slicing through the quiet like a knife through fruit.

One of the younger maids froze mid-chop. "Pardon, Mrs. Susan?"

Susan bit into the apple slowly, the crisp crunch echoing. "Don't play innocent, dear. You see everything. I know my sister-in-law, and I know when she's hiding something."

The other maids exchanged wary glances but said nothing.

Susan leaned against the counter, her tone dripping with disdain. "She and Amalia are suddenly thick as thieves. Hushed talks, secret outings… and all this pretending everything's normal."

Another bite.

"She treats Amalia like a crowned queen, but honestly—what has the girl brought to this family? Years of promises. No children. Not even a proper wedding yet." She chuckled darkly, letting the words hang in the air.

The maids remained still, unsure whether to laugh or flee.

Just then, Mrs. Montenegro stepped into the room, dressed in her usual elegant silk, her presence immediately commanding. Her eyes narrowed the moment she caught Susan's smirk and the tension in the air.

"Must you always be in here running your mouth?" she snapped. "This is a kitchen, not your private gossip lounge."

Susan straightened, tossing the apple core in the bin with precision. "Well, someone has to speak the truth in this house."

"Truth?" Mrs. Montenegro's voice was calm but sharp. "You mean your tired insults disguised as opinions? You do nothing but eat, eavesdrop, and speculate."

"At least," Susan said, her voice suddenly quiet but bitter, "I gave this family three sons. What has your beloved daughter-in-law-to-be given us? Not even one child. Not yet. Not ever, if you ask me."

A crack appeared in Mrs. Montenegro's expression—just a flicker. The maids noticed it. Susan noticed it too.

But instead of replying, the matriarch lifted her chin.

"Stay out of things that don't concern you, Susan," she said coolly. "Not everything in this family needs your… commentary."

She turned on her heel and left, the sound of her heels echoing down the hall.

Susan stood there for a moment, unusually quiet.

Then, she exhaled.

"I struck a nerve," she muttered to herself, brushing invisible lint from her blouse. "There's definitely something they don't want me to know."

She took one last look around the kitchen before walking out, the maids exhaling only once she was gone.

The late afternoon sun filtered gently through the gauzy curtains of the Montenegro mansion, casting golden streaks across the marble floor. In the spacious bedroom, Amalia stood by the window, her hands lightly resting on her flat stomach, as though she could already feel the flutter of life within.

"I can't wait," she said with a dreamy sigh. "Just a few more weeks, and we'll know if the process worked."

Lucas, seated on the edge of the bed, looked up from lacing his shoes. His expression was calm, unreadable.

Amalia turned to face him, her eyes sparkling. "Just imagine it, Lucas. Our baby. Yours and mine. What we've always wanted. I've already started putting together ideas for the nursery… oh, and I found this incredible doula who specializes in bonding sessions for surrogates and intended parents."

Lucas managed a small nod, but his silence stretched a little too long.

"You don't seem excited," Amalia said, her voice dipping with concern. "Is something wrong?"

He rose to his feet, smoothing the front of his shirt. "No, it's not that. You know I love you. And yes… I'm happy for you," he said, offering a smile—one that flickered too quickly, like a match in the wind.

Amalia moved closer, laying her hands gently on his chest. "You think I forced you into this, don't you?"

Lucas's jaw tensed, just briefly.

"You've been distant," she continued, her tone softening, "but I get it. It's all so clinical and detached right now. But once you meet her—once you meet the surrogate—it'll feel different. Better. You'll see that she's a good person."

She leaned in, her voice full of belief. "We'll have sessions with her. Time to bond with the baby… even before it's born. It'll feel just like it would if I were carrying it myself. I promise."

Lucas reached up and cupped her cheek. "You're amazing, you know that?" he said gently. "You've held on to this dream for both of us."

"I have," she whispered, smiling.

He kissed her forehead. "But right now, I really have to go. There's something I need to finish up at the office."

Amalia nodded, stepping back to let him pass. "Alright. But soon, okay? We'll do this together."

Lucas didn't respond, only nodding as he walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.

As he walked down the hallway, his face fell. That smile, the one he had forced so many times in the last few weeks, slipped away entirely. His steps were slow, heavy with unspoken doubt.

Something about all of this felt wrong.

And the worst part was… he couldn't yet tell what.