The walk back from the hospital garden felt longer than it actually was.
Alekos didn't rush it. For the first time since they had arrived, he allowed himself a few extra seconds between steps, using the distance as a way to steady his breathing and gather what little composure he had left. The conversation with his father hadn't solved anything, but it had given him something he didn't have before—direction. Not certainty, not answers, but the understanding that he didn't need to have everything figured out in order to stay.
By the time he reached Selin's room, his expression had settled. Not calm, not unaffected—but controlled enough that he could walk in without breaking.
Selin was sitting exactly where he had left her.
But she didn't look the same.
There was a stillness in her now, one that didn't come from peace, but from processing. Her hands rested lightly over her stomach, not protectively, not yet—but consciously, as if she was trying to understand what was already happening inside her body.
When she looked up and saw him, something shifted immediately.
Relief.
Not dramatic, not overwhelming—but real.
"You left," she said quietly.
"I needed a minute," he replied, stepping closer.
She nodded.
She understood.
He didn't sit immediately.
Instead, he stood in front of her for a second longer than necessary, taking her in—not the way he had before, not with hesitation or fear, but with intention. Then, slowly, he reached for her, his hands settling at her waist, grounding both of them in the moment.
"I'm here now," he said.
That was all.
No promises.
No explanations.
Just presence.
Selin leaned into him first.
Not out of weakness.
But because she didn't want to stand alone in what came next.
Her forehead rested lightly against his chest, and his arms came around her without hesitation this time, holding her in a way that felt more certain than anything else he had done that day.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Because words would have made it heavier.
And it was already heavy enough.
The ultrasound room was quieter than the rest of the hospital.
Not silent—but contained. The kind of space where everything felt more focused, more fragile. Selin lay back on the examination bed, her body tense despite how still she appeared. Alekos stood beside her, his hand wrapped firmly around hers, his thumb moving slightly as if to remind her he was still there.
Sibelle prepared the machine with calm precision, explaining each step as she went—not because Selin didn't understand, but because clarity mattered now more than ever.
She joined them after being informed of Selin's pregnancy from Vanessa.
"This will help us confirm the early development," she said. "It's still very early, so we're not expecting much detail yet."
Selin nodded.
She didn't trust her voice.
The gel was cold.
The contact unfamiliar.
Selin flinched slightly, her grip on Alekos tightening instinctively.
"It's okay," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "I'm right here."
She nodded again, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
At first, the screen showed nothing she could recognize.
Just shapes.
Shadows.
Movement that didn't make sense.
Her chest tightened slightly as she tried to understand what she was looking at.
Then Sibelle paused.
"There," she said gently.
Alekos leaned forward slightly.
Selin turned her head.
And for a moment—
everything slowed.
It wasn't clear.
It wasn't defined.
But it was there.
Small.
Barely visible.
But real.
Selin's breath caught.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to break the rhythm of her breathing.
"That's…?" she whispered.
"The gestational sac," Sibelle explained. "It's very early, but this is expected at this stage."
Selin nodded slowly.
Her eyes didn't leave the screen.
Alekos didn't speak.
He couldn't.
Because something in his chest had tightened in a way he didn't understand.
Not fear.
Not entirely.
But something deeper.
Something that felt like reality finally settling in.
His grip on Selin's hand softened slightly, not loosening—but changing.
More careful.
More aware.
"It's okay," Sibelle added. "Everything looks consistent so far."
So far.
The words mattered.
Later, when they were alone again, the room felt different.
Quieter.
But heavier than before.
Selin sat on the edge of the bed, her posture slightly hunched, her hands resting in her lap again. She had been silent since the ultrasound, not withdrawn, but thoughtful in a way that made Alekos pay closer attention.
He sat beside her, not too close at first.
Giving her space.
Waiting.
"I saw it," she said finally.
Her voice was soft, but steady.
Alekos nodded. "Yeah."
"It was small," she added.
"It's early."
She nodded.
"I know."
Silence followed.
But it wasn't empty.
It was building.
Selin exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening together slightly.
"I need to say something," she said.
Alekos turned toward her immediately.
"Okay."
She didn't look at him right away.
Instead, her gaze dropped again—to her hands, to the space just in front of her.
"I wanted this," she said. "More than anything."
Her voice didn't break.
But it came close.
"And now that it's happening…" she continued, pausing briefly, "…I'm scared."
Alekos didn't interrupt.
Didn't correct her.
He just listened.
"I'm not scared of the pain," she said. "Or the process. Or even what it's going to do to me physically."
She finally looked at him.
And that's when it hit.
"I'm scared I won't make it to the end."
The words didn't come out loudly.
But they landed harder than anything else she had said.
Alekos didn't respond immediately.
Because there was no easy answer.
No reassurance that wouldn't feel like a lie.
So instead—
he moved closer.
His hand came up to her face, gently, the same way it had before—but this time, there was no hesitation, no fear of doing too much or too little.
"You're not doing this alone," he said quietly.
It wasn't a solution.
It wasn't a promise of survival.
But it was real.
Selin's eyes softened slightly.
Not because the fear was gone.
But because she wasn't carrying it by herself anymore.
She leaned into him again.
And this time—
he held her tighter.
The shift didn't happen dramatically.
It started small.
So small that Selin almost ignored it.
They had just left the ultrasound room, the image still fresh in her mind—the tiny, unclear shape that had somehow changed everything. Nilay was walking beside her now, unusually quiet, her earlier sharpness replaced with something more fragile, more internal. Alekos stayed close, one hand hovering near Selin's back like he didn't trust himself to let go completely.
At first, it was just discomfort.
A slight tightening low in her abdomen.
Not sharp.
Not alarming.
Just… different.
Selin slowed her steps slightly, her hand instinctively moving toward her stomach again.
Alekos noticed immediately.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low but alert.
"Nothing," she said quickly. "It's probably just—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Because this time—
it wasn't nothing.
The pain didn't spike, but it deepened.
A slow, unfamiliar pressure that made her breath hitch slightly. Not enough to panic, but enough to unsettle her. Her body tensed without her permission, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of her hoodie.
Alekos stepped in front of her immediately, blocking her path.
"Selin."
This time, it wasn't a question.
She didn't answer right away.
Because she didn't know how to describe it.
"It just… feels off," she said finally, her voice quieter now.
Nilay turned instantly, her entire focus snapping back into place.
"What kind of off?"
Selin hesitated.
"Not sharp. Just… pressure."
That was enough.
Within seconds, they were back in a room.
Sibelle didn't waste time when she saw them return.
"What happened?" she asked, already moving toward Selin.
"She felt something," Alekos answered before Selin could. "Pressure. She said it wasn't normal."
Vanessa nodded, her expression focused but not alarmed.
"Lie down," she instructed.
Selin obeyed, her movements slower now, more careful, her earlier calm replaced with growing awareness of how little control she had over what was happening inside her body.
The examination was quick.
Efficient.
But the silence during it—
that was what made it worse.
Selin watched Sibelles' face, searching for any sign of concern, any shift that would confirm what she was starting to feel.
Alekos stood beside her again, his hand locked with hers, but this time his grip was tighter. Not grounding—holding.
Like he was bracing.
After a moment, Sibelle leaned back slightly.
"It's not uncommon," she said, her tone measured. "Your body is adjusting. Hormonal changes, combined with your condition, can create discomfort early on."
Selin exhaled slowly.
Not relief.
But not panic either.
"But," Sibelle added, and that one word tightened the entire room again, "we need to monitor everything very closely. Any change—pain, bleeding, dizziness—you come in immediately."
Selin nodded.
Alekos didn't.
"What does that mean?" he asked, his voice sharper now. "Is she at risk right now?"
Sibelle met his gaze.
"She's at risk throughout the entire pregnancy," she said honestly. "That hasn't changed. But this—right now—is not an emergency."
That was supposed to help.
It didn't.
Nilay stepped outside the room before anyone else.
She didn't say anything at first.
She just walked.
Quickly.
Until she reached the end of the hallway.
Then she stopped.
Her hand came up to her mouth, her breathing uneven for the first time since any of this had started.
"She's pregnant," she whispered to herself.
The reality of it had finally settled.
Not as excitement.
Not as control.
But as something deeply personal.
"I wanted this for her," she admitted quietly. "But not like this."
Her eyes closed briefly, her shoulders dropping just slightly.
Because for all her strength—
for all her control—
this was something she couldn't manage.
"She's still a child," she added under her breath, even though Selin wasn't. "And he—"
She stopped.
Because this wasn't about blame.
Not anymore.
When she walked back into the room, her expression had reset.
But not completely.
This time, when she looked at Selin—
there was something softer in it.
Something protective.
Something afraid.
Alekos didn't say much on the way out.
But everything about him had changed.
He walked slightly ahead of Selin now, not out of distance, but awareness. Every step she took, he watched. Every movement she made, he tracked. When she reached for something, he was already there.
"Careful," he said more than once.
"Slow down."
"Sit."
It wasn't controlling.
Not intentionally.
But it was constant.
Selin noticed.
Of course she did.
When they reached the car, he opened the door for her, helped her in, adjusted her seat without asking.
"I can do it," she said quietly.
"I know," he replied. "Let me."
That was the difference.
The drive home was quieter than before.
But this time, it wasn't just tension.
It was awareness.
Alekos kept glancing at her, checking without asking, making sure she was still okay, still breathing the same, still present.
When they got home, he didn't sit.
He stayed near her.
Too near.
Watching.
Waiting.
Selin finally looked at him properly.
"You're hovering."
"I'm not."
"You are."
A pause.
Then—
"I just need to know you're okay," he said.
Selin studied him for a moment.
Then softened.
Because this—
this wasn't control.
This was fear.
"I'm okay right now," she said gently.
Right now.
Not always.
Alekos nodded.
But he didn't relax.
Not completely.
Because something had changed in him.
Before, this had been something they were doing together.
A choice.
A risk.
Now—
it felt like something he had to protect.
At all costs.
And that shift?
That quiet, unspoken shift—
would change everything that came next.