The hospital room felt quieter the next morning, but the silence wasn't peaceful—it was the kind that came after a storm, heavy and swollen with everything left unresolved. Aaliyah was half-sitting in the bed, hands over her stomach, eyes fixed on the monitor showing that tiny heartbeat that was somehow stronger than both of them. Damiano sat right beside her, refusing to move even an inch, his fingers laced with hers like he was afraid she'd disappear.
Then the door opened.
Thomas. Ethan. Victoria.
All three standing there, breathless, faces pale from the night of chaos they had witnessed online.
But something else was in their eyes—determination.
Victoria: "We need to talk. Now."
Damiano stood up immediately, ready for a fight.
Damiano: "If you're here to complain—this is not the time."
Thomas: "Shut up. We're not here to complain."
Ethan: "We're here because we saw everything."
Aaliyah lowered her gaze, embarrassed. The headlines, the comments, the accusations… her panic attack in the hallway… the hospital. She felt exposed.
But Victoria walked straight to her, no hesitation, and placed a hand on hers.
Victoria: "Aaliyah. We didn't know. About the baby. About the pressure. About what they were doing to you."
Aaliyah: quietly "You weren't supposed to know. I didn't want any of this to touch the band."
Thomas shook his head.
Thomas: "We're not leaving you alone in this shitstorm."
Ethan: "Those blogs, those reporters—they crossed every line."
Damiano blinked, stunned. He hadn't expected this. Not after the tension, the arguments, the stress of the past weeks.
Damiano: "So… you're saying you're with us?"
Victoria: "We're saying we're done staying quiet."
She pulled out her phone.
Victoria: "We've already drafted a statement. As a band. United."
Damiano: "What does it say?"
Thomas: "It says the truth."
Victoria cleared her throat and read:
Victoria:
"'Aaliyah is not unstable. She is not dangerous. She is not what the media is trying to paint.
She is a strong woman who has been targeted by lies and harassment.
And as a band, as a family, we stand with her and with Damiano.
We will not tolerate the press endangering her pregnancy or her mental health.'"
Aaliyah covered her mouth with her hand, tears pricking her eyes.
She hadn't expected support.
Not after everything.
Aaliyah: "You… you don't have to defend me like that. I don't want to cause problems between you."
Ethan: "You didn't cause anything. THEY did."
Thomas: "And they're not getting away with it."
Damiano exhaled, overwhelmed.
Damiano: "Thank you. Really."
Victoria: "Don't thank us. Just focus on her. We'll handle the rest."
Aaliyah suddenly pressed a hand to her stomach.
Not pain.
Movement.
Aaliyah: "She's… moving."
Damiano's eyes widened, and he moved closer instantly.
Damiano: "She is? Wait, wait—let me feel—"
She guided his hand and placed it gently on her belly.
A soft kick tapped against his palm.
Damiano froze.
Everything—the chaos, the paparazzi, the interviews, the lies—disappeared.
Damiano: whispered "She's really in there…"
Aaliyah: smiling through tears "She is."
Victoria's voice softened behind them.
Victoria: "That baby needs both of you calm. So from now on? Anyone who touches Aaliyah touches us too."
Thomas crossed his arms.
Thomas: "Let them talk. We'll talk louder."
Ethan: "And smarter."
Damiano brushed a tear from Aaliyah's cheek.
Damiano: "Hear that? You're not alone anymore."
Aaliyah: "I never wanted to be a burden."
Damiano: "You're not a burden. You're the mother of my daughter. And we're not letting anything happen to you."
Outside the window, a few paparazzi still lingered, cameras ready.
But Aaliyah didn't flinch.
Not this time.
Because for the first time since the nightmare began…
She wasn't fighting alone.
And Damiano, watching his band stand behind her like a shield, whispered to himself:
Damiano: "If they want a war, now they're getting one.
And this time… we're fighting together."