ANASTASIA'S POV:
My hands were shaking.
They wouldn't stop.
The thin plastic stick trembled between my fingers as i stepped out of the bathroom, each breath stuck in my throat like glass.
I didn't want to look at the result again.
I already knew.
I felt it the moment the second line appeared—faint, but there.
Positive.
I was pregnant.
Again.
My knees buckled a little, but i forced myself to keep walking.
The cold Parisian tiles felt like ice under my bare feet, but i couldn't move back inside.
I couldn't even cry properly, like my body was too shocked to allow it.
Yaya Minda turned the corner just as i reached the hallway.
Her eyes went straight to the test in my hand.
She froze.
"Are you pregnant again?" she asked, voice low, but thick with disbelief. Sadness. Disappointment.
I couldn't answer.
I just nodded.
Once. Slowly.
The tears came fast then, spilling over before I could even blink them away.
I hated how they burned, how they made everything blur when all i wanted was clarity. Just one damn answer to why.
Why this happened again.
Why i let it happen again.
"I'm sorry," I choked out.
It was all i could say.
Yaya didn't reply.
She just reached for me gently, guiding me to sit down on the nearby couch.
Her hand brushed my hair back, her touch soft, motherly, and far too kind for someone like me.
Because i wasn't strong.
I wasn't brave.
I was just… tired.
And i didn't know what the hell i was doing anymore.
-
I went to the clinic the next day.
Confirmed.
Three weeks pregnant.
And i knew exactly when it happened—
that last night with Lorenzo.
He kissed me like he was saying hungry.
But now i'm carrying something neither of us can walk away from.
Three weeks of not noticing the way i got dizzy when i stood too fast.
Three weeks of brushing off nausea and blaming it on stress or jet lag.
Three weeks of trying to pretend that the past wouldn't follow me into this new life.
But it did.
It always did.
I sat in the corner of the waiting room after the check-up, one hand resting over my still-flat stomach, and i stared at the wall like it could tell me what to do.
What now?
I already had Celestine.
I was raising a daughter alone.
That pain was still fresh.
Her father wasn't in her life.
By my choice.
Because i had to protect her.
Because i didn't want her to grow up witnessing the kind of love that was confused, wounded, always begging to be saved.
And now i was carrying another child. Another piece of Lorenzo.
Another beating heart i didn't plan for—but would love with everything i had, no matter how broken i felt.
But i was terrified.
Of being judged.
Of failing again.
Of never knowing what a whole family felt like.
Paris was supposed to be my escape.
But no matter how beautiful the city was, how golden the Seine looked at sunset or how romantic the cobblestone streets felt under my shoes—it couldn't silence the voices in my head.
You're reckless.
You're weak.
You're ruining your life.
-
I walked through the 5th arrondissement with my scarf pulled tight around my neck, my coat wrapped protectively around my middle like it could hide something not even visible yet.
I felt eyes on me—more than once.
A lingering stare here.
A shadow at the end of the street.
But whenever i looked over my shoulder, there was no one.
I didn't know if i was just paranoid.
Or if guilt had finally taken on a human form.
But i kept walking.
Faster.
Tighter.
Breathing through my nose like i was trying to hold myself together, piece by piece.
How would i tell my parents?
That i'd done it again.
That the daughter they raised with the best tutors, the most expensive horseback riding classes, and every door in the world opened for her—was once again a statistic.
Pregnant. Alone. Unmarried.
Not just once. Twice.
I didn't even know how i'd face myself in the mirror.
There was no more denying it.
No more pretending i was just tired.
That my appetite was off.
That this strange warmth i'd been carrying was anything other than a new life, forming inside me, asking for love.
For protection.
For a mother who could be brave, even when she felt like falling apart.
-
When i got home, Celestine was coloring by the window.
She looked up, eyes bright, lips curved into a smile that shattered me completely.
"Mama!" she said, holding up her drawing. "Look, I made the Eiffel Tower pink."
I dropped to my knees in front of her and pulled her into my arms, holding her like the ground could give out any second.
"Mommy's okay," I whispered into her hair, though i was anything but.
She giggled, wrapping her little arms around my neck. "You smell like the doctor's office."
I laughed through the tears.
God, this little girl.
She was the reason i kept going.
She was the reason i had to keep going.
And now there was another life growing inside me—one that would need just as much love.
Just as much strength.
Just as much fight.
That night, I stood on the small balcony of our rented flat, staring at the lights of Paris glowing in the distance.
The city looked peaceful from up here.
Like the world didn't care that my heart was crumbling inside my chest.
I touched my stomach again.
"You don't know this yet," I whispered, voice trembling in the cold air, "but you already changed me."
The wind carried my words into the dark, like a secret between me and the sky.
"I don't know how we'll survive. I don't know how I'll raise you and your sister without falling apart. But I'll try. I'll try so damn hard."
A tear slipped down my cheek.
"I just wish…" My voice cracked. "I just wish he'd fought for us. For you. For all of us."
But Lorenzo didn't know.
He didn't know he had a second child on the way.
And i wasn't sure if i was strong enough to tell him.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Because this time… I wasn't sure i could survive being let down again.