The room was quiet.
Still.
Leah lay back against the bed.
Pillow soft beneath her head.
Izana sat beside her.
Close.
Too close to leave.
His hand held hers.
Thumb brushing slowly.
Back and forth.
Steady.
Grounding.
Her breathing had settled.
Not fully.
But enough.
"…You're still watching me," she murmured softly.
"…Yes."
A small pause.
"…You haven't stopped."
"…No."
Her lips curved faintly.
"…You're worse today."
"…I know."
"…You're not going to relax, are you?"
A beat.
"…No."
She exhaled softly.
Not annoyed.
Just… accepting.
"…Okay."
Silence settled again.
Soft.
Familiar.
Then—
The door opened.
The doctor stepped in.
Measured.
Calm.
Professional.
Izana didn't move away.
Didn't release her hand.
"…How are you feeling?"
Leah shifted slightly.
"…Better than before."
A pause.
"…Still tired."
The doctor nodded.
Stepping closer.
"…We'll check everything."
Izana's grip tightened slightly.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to stay connected.
The doctor moved beside the bed.
Checking her pulse.
Observing.
Listening.
"…When did this start?"
"…About a week ago."
"…Only recently?"
"…Yes."
A pause.
"…Any dizziness?"
"…A little."
"…Enough to stop you walking?"
"…Not always."
"…But sometimes?"
"…Yes."
The doctor nodded again.
Writing something down.
Izana watched.
Every movement.
Every word.
Nothing missed.
"…What about eating?"
Leah hesitated.
"…I haven't been able to eat much."
"…Loss of appetite?"
"…Yes."
"…Or nausea stopping you?"
"…Both."
Another note.
Another pause.
"…Any pain?"
"…No."
"…Just fatigue and nausea?"
"…Yes."
The doctor stepped back slightly.
Thinking.
Watching her.
Then—
A knock.
Sharp.
Unexpected.
The door opened before anyone answered.
Dante stepped in.
Serious.
Different.
Something wrong.
Izana stood immediately.
But didn't step away from her fully.
Not yet.
"…What."
Low.
Controlled.
Dante moved closer.
"…Something's happened."
A pause.
Izana didn't react.
"…Can it wait."
Flat.
Direct.
Dante shook his head.
"…No."
Silence stretched.
Heavy.
Izana's jaw tightened slightly.
He didn't look away from Leah.
Didn't move.
Didn't leave.
Then—
A small tug.
At his sleeve.
He looked down instantly.
Leah.
Looking at him.
Soft.
Tired.
But certain.
"…Go," she whispered.
A pause.
He didn't respond.
Didn't accept it.
"…It's okay."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"…I'll be fine."
His gaze didn't shift.
Still on her.
Still unwilling.
"…I don't like leaving you."
Quiet.
Honest.
She smiled faintly.
"…I know."
A breath.
"…But you need to go."
Another pause.
"…I'll call you."
"…Immediately."
"…Yes."
"…If anything changes."
"…I promise."
Silence.
He leaned down slowly.
Pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Lingering.
Longer than needed.
His hand brushed her cheek.
Gentle.
Careful.
Memorising.
"…I won't be long."
"…I'll be here."
Another pause.
Then—
He stepped back.
Reluctant.
Eyes still on her.
Then he turned.
Walking out with Dante.
The door closed behind them.
Quiet.
Final.
The room felt different.
Still.
But emptier.
Leah exhaled softly.
Her hand rested where his had been.
Still warm.
"…Let's continue," the doctor said gently.
She nodded.
"…Okay."
The doctor stepped forward again.
Calm.
Focused.
"…You said this started a week ago."
"…Yes."
"…And it hasn't improved?"
"…Not really."
"…Worse at certain times?"
She thought for a moment.
"…Mornings."
A pause.
"…And sometimes randomly."
"…Like earlier?"
"…Yes."
Another note.
The doctor looked at her again.
More carefully now.
More focused.
Then—
"…I'd like to run an ultrasound."
Leah blinked slightly.
"…An ultrasound?"
"…Yes."
A small pause.
"…Why?"
The doctor didn't answer immediately.
Just watched her.
Then—
"…To confirm something."
Her fingers shifted slightly.
"…Is something wrong?"
The doctor shook his head.
"…We'll check first."
Simple.
Neutral.
Leah swallowed softly.
A flicker of nerves.
But she nodded.
"…Okay."
The machine was prepared.
Quiet.
Efficient.
The room filled with a soft hum.
Leah lay back fully.
Still.
Waiting.
The gel touched her skin.
Cold.
She flinched slightly.
"…Cold."
"…Just for a moment."
The device moved slowly.
Carefully.
Across her stomach.
Silence followed.
Long.
Heavy.
The doctor watched the screen.
Focused.
Unmoving.
Leah didn't look at the screen.
She watched him instead.
His face.
His expression.
Trying to understand.
Trying to read it.
A pause stretched.
Then another.
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"…Is something wrong?"
Soft.
Careful.
No immediate answer.
Still looking.
Still focused.
Then—
A shift.
Subtle.
His expression softened.
Just slightly.
He looked back at her.
A small smile forming.
Gentle.
Reassuring.
"…Nothing is wrong."
Her breath released.
Unsteady.
"…Then what is it?"
A pause.
Just a second.
Then—
"…You're pregnant."
Silence.
Everything stopped.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Not fully understanding.
Not yet.
"…Pregnant?"
Barely a whisper.
The doctor nodded.
"…About six weeks."
The words settled slowly.
Piece by piece.
Her hand moved.
Resting against her stomach.
Instinctive.
Unthinking.
"…Six weeks…"
Soft.
Distant.
"…Are you sure?"
"…Yes."
"…Completely sure?"
"…Yes."
Another pause.
Longer now.
Her breathing shifted.
Changed.
Softer.
Deeper.
Her fingers pressed lightly against herself.
As if trying to feel it.
Trying to understand it.
"…I…"
No words came.
Not yet.
Just feeling.
Just realisation.
Just… something new.
"…You're certain?"
"…Very."
Her eyes lowered.
Then lifted again.
"…I didn't know."
"…It's still early."
"…That's why I've been feeling like this?"
"…Yes."
A quiet breath left her.
"…The nausea…"
"…Common."
"…The tiredness…"
"…Also common."
Another pause.
"…Nothing is wrong?"
"…Everything looks fine."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
Just slightly.
"…Okay."
Soft.
Unsteady.
But real.
Her hand stayed where it was.
Not moving.
Not pulling away.
"…Pregnant…"
The word felt different this time.
Less distant.
More real.
Her eyes softened.
Something shifting deep inside.
Something new.
Something everything.
"…Does he know?" the doctor asked gently.
A small pause.
Leah shook her head.
"…No."
"…Will you tell him?"
Her lips parted slightly.
Then—
A faint, soft smile.
"…Yes."
Her fingers curled slightly.
Still resting there.
Still holding that space.
"…I will."
And everything—
Had changed.