Sebastian was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, quietly cooking, moving on instinct, muscle memory built from years of doing this for Amara. The soup simmered gently, filling the house with a familiar warmth that no longer felt earned.
In the living room, Seren sat curled up with the tablet. The screen lit up.
An image is loaded. Her small brows knit together. A black-and-white picture. Strange. Blurry. Numbers at the top.
Six weeks. Before she could fully understand it, her finger swiped.
Deleted. "Seren, what are you doing?"
Elara's sharp voice cut through the room. Seren startled, clutching the tablet. "That wicked woman," she said quickly, mimicking words she'd heard far too often. "Amara sent a picture to Dad. I deleted it."
Elara froze. "What picture?" she asked, already knowing.
"I don't know," Seren shrugged, trying to sound casual. "It looked like… like a baby picture? It said six weeks along."
