The clink of silverware was the only sound at the table. Even the usual background hum of the morning felt muffled, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
Naomi sat with her hands folded tightly on her lap. She hadn't touched her breakfast. Across from her, Regina was equally still, her fork paused halfway to her mouth.
"I'm pregnant," Naomi repeated the word she had said barely a minute ago, softly, like a pebble dropped into deep water.
Regina hadn't responded. Not a gasp. Not a word. Just that unreadable expression she always wore when she was thinking too fast to speak.
Naomi looked down, suddenly regretting every sip of orange juice she'd forced herself to swallow before saying it. The silence was dragging.
Regina finally moved. Not to speak, but to cut a piece of toast with practiced precision. She brought it to her mouth, chewed once, then slowly lowered her fork to the plate with a faint clink.
