I woke up to the soft rustling of the wind brushing against the windows and a faint scent of rosemary drifting through the open window. The sun was gentle this morning, not harsh or demanding—just a warm glow caressing my face and whispering me awake. I blinked a few times, my hand instinctively moving to my belly. Light. My body felt lighter than yesterday. But then, nausea bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth.
Pregnancy.
It was still strange thinking that word in relation to myself.
I rolled out of bed slowly, wearing one of Marco's oversized flannel shirts and soft cotton shorts. The fabric clung to me slightly with sweat, but it offered comfort, a sense of being grounded. I sat on the edge of my bed for a while, head hanging low, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth like Max had taught me.
That's when the thoughts came, sharp and sudden. Mom. Dad. Marco. How would I even begin to tell them? Would they be disappointed? Angry? Afraid?
A soft knock came from the door.
"Mia?"
It was Andreis. His voice was low, warm—but there was a tinge of concern in it that tightened something in my chest. Of course he would feel it. He always did. Ever since the imprint, he could sense when something was wrong with me.
"I can feel you're not okay," he said through the door.
Before I could answer, the door creaked open, and Andreis stepped in.
He looked effortlessly beautiful, wearing a soft, cream-colored knit sweater that hugged his frame and black jeans that tapered neatly around his boots. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his brows were furrowed in worry. The fresh scent of pine and something spicy—cedarwood, maybe—trailed in with him.
The moment our eyes met, everything inside me cracked. I broke into sobs, the ugly kind, the kind where your chest heaves and you can't quite breathe. Andreis rushed to me.
"Hey, hey," he whispered, kneeling in front of me. His hands came up to hold my face. "Mia, what's wrong?"
I couldn't speak for a while. I just cried. Maybe it was the hormones. Or maybe it was the truth I kept carrying like a ticking bomb. Eventually, I managed to say through gasps, "I'm scared… I don't know how to tell them. What if they hate me for this?"
Andreis shook his head firmly. "They could never hate you. And no matter what happens, I'm not going anywhere. I will stay with you, Mia. Through everything. This is our journey now."
He stood and offered his hand. "Come on. Let's freshen you up. A warm shower might help."
I nodded weakly. Inside the bathroom, the tiles were cool beneath my feet. Andreis gently helped me undress, every movement respectful, delicate. He adjusted the water temperature, and the steam slowly filled the room with the scent of vanilla from the soap.
As the water trickled down my back, he washed my hair for me, massaging my scalp gently. He didn't speak much—he didn't need to. His touch spoke for him. Comfort. Safety. Love. And slowly, the storm in my chest calmed.
After getting dressed again—this time in a soft beige hoodie and leggings—we headed down to the kitchen.
The scent of brewed coffee, toasted bread, and garlic rice greeted us, mixed with the faint trace of flowers from the garden just outside the window. But despite the comfort of home, my stomach churned again, a wave of nausea rolling through me.
Max was already at the table, sipping tea. My parents were by the stove, Mom in a floral apron and Dad reading something on his phone. Marco sat on the kitchen stool, scrolling through something, probably local news.
My mom turned to me, her eyes narrowing slightly in concern. "You okay, baby? You look a little pale."
I forced a smile and rubbed my eyes. "Just didn't sleep well, I think. Maybe I stayed up too late reading."
Her brows furrowed. "You sure?"
"I'm fine, Mom." I felt Andreis squeeze my hand under the table.
Marco glanced at me, worry etched in his features. Dad, too, raised his eyes and gave me a once-over.
To break the tension, Mom clapped her hands once. "Alright, we need to finalize Mia's birthday plan! It's just a few days away."
They started discussing options. A garden dinner? Maybe invite a few relatives. Max chimed in with venue ideas. Everyone was talking—except me and Andreis.
I could feel my stomach tightening again. Not just from nausea. From panic.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't pretend.
"I'm— I need to go upstairs. I forgot I had something to fix in my room," I said abruptly, standing.
Andreis started to rise too, but I gave him a small, quick shake of my head. I'm okay, I mouthed.
He nodded reluctantly.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Mom and Dad exchange a look.
I shut the door behind me and sat on the bed, cradling my head in my hands. A minute later, a knock.
"Mia? It's me."
"Come in," I called softly.
Marco stepped in, wearing a navy blue shirt and grey joggers. His hair was still damp from a shower, and he smelled faintly of sandalwood and mint. His eyes scanned my face.
"You look like you're about to cry," he said, walking toward me and sitting beside me on the bed.
I nodded, tears already forming again. "Marco…"
He waited.
"I'm pregnant."
The silence between us was deafening. Then, he took a deep breath.
"Are you… happy?"
"I think so," I whispered. "It's scary. But when I think about it, when I touch my stomach… it feels real. It feels right."
Marco's eyes softened. "If you're happy, then I'm happy. But if you're not—if he's done something, anything—I swear I'll drag Andreis away from you myself."
I laughed a little through the tears. "No. He's… he's been everything. Supportive. Kind. Loving."
He nodded slowly. "Does Mom or Dad know?"
"Not yet. Just you, Max, and Andreis."
Marco leaned back slightly, hands clasped between his knees. "You have to tell them soon. You know that, right?"
"I know."
He went quiet again. Then, he looked at me, conflicted.
"There's something I should tell you. About Max."
I blinked. "What?"
"We were… together. For a while. That's why I brought you guys to Velvet Ember. I own that place. I thought you'd be safe there. But I was wrong."
My mouth fell open slightly. "You and Max?"
"Yeah. We ended things after that night. I couldn't take what she did. But I know now it wasn't really her. And… I still care about her."
I reached out and touched his hand. "Then maybe you should talk to her. Everything's been chaotic, but we're all healing. And you both deserve that chance."
Marco didn't answer right away. He looked at me, then at the floor.
"I just don't know if she wants me back."
Before I could say more, the door creaked again.
"Marco," Max's voice called softly from the hallway.
His eyes widened.