Morning arrived quietly.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains, warming the edge of the bed.
Aria blinked awake slowly.
For a second, she forgot.
Then she remembered.
Pregnancy.
Wedding planning.
The anonymous message.
Milan.
The thought tightened something in her chest-but not in panic.
In curiosity.
She turned her head.
Leo was still asleep.
His arm draped loosely over her waist, protective even in rest.
He looked younger like this.
Less controlled.
Less guarded.
Human.
She studied him.
They had talked last night.
Not about Milan.
Not about the message.
They had talked about everything and nothing-work, baby names they hadn't chosen, the kind of parent he imagined being.
It had been... normal.
That word surprised her.
Normal.
After everything they had survived, normal felt like an achievement.
She carefully slid out of bed so she wouldn't wake him.
Bare feet on the cool floor.
The house was quiet.
Not tense.
Not waiting.
Just morning.
She went to the kitchen and started water for tea.
Morning sickness had been mild so far-waves of nausea rather than full episodes.
Ginger helped.
So did eating small things.
She opened the cupboard, grabbed a packet of crackers, and ate one slowly.
Dry.
Simple.
Better.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
She stared at it.
For a second, she didn't want to look.
But she did.
No unknown number.
No message.
Just a notification.
Wedding planner: Floral samples delivered.
She exhaled.
Small things.
Real things.
She opened the attachment.
Roses.
Peonies.
White and cream arrangements.
Elegant.
Soft.
She imagined walking down the aisle.
Not in perfection.
In reality.
Her hand resting on Leo's arm.
Guests smiling.
No scandals.
No dramatic declarations.
Just two people choosing each other.
She felt something warm at the thought.
Not overwhelming.
Not cinematic.
Real.
Footsteps.
Leo appeared in the doorway, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep.
"You're up," he said.
"Couldn't sleep."
He walked over and kissed her forehead.
"How are you feeling?"
She smiled faintly.
"Fine."
He raised an eyebrow.
"That word worries me."
She rolled her eyes.
"I am actually fine."
He studied her.
She studied him back.
No tension.
Just awareness.
He poured coffee for himself and tea for her.
"Did you sleep?" she asked.
"Eventually."
She took the mug.
"Thank you."
He leaned against the counter.
"You're quiet."
She glanced at him.
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous."
She smirked.
"Stop saying that."
He smiled.
Small.
Familiar.
"How are the cramps?"
Her expression softened.
"Better."
He nodded.
"That's good."
They didn't linger on it.
No need.
She took a sip of tea.
Ginger.
Warm.
It helped.
Work called.
Not urgently.
Just a meeting reminder.
Aria considered canceling.
Then decided not to.
Routine mattered.
She sent a message.
Joining remotely.
Leo noticed.
"You don't have to work today."
"I want to."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he nodded.
"Okay."
That was all.
No pressure.
No assumptions.
Support.
She appreciated it more than she said.
Later, in the meeting, she focused.
Plans.
Timelines.
Marketing strategies.
Real things.
Professional things.
She contributed.
Her team listened.
Nothing had changed about her competence.
About her voice.
About her ideas.
Pregnancy didn't erase capability.
It added complexity.
She handled it.
After the meeting, one colleague lingered.
"Congratulations," the woman said softly.
Aria blinked.
"What?"
The woman smiled.
"I heard."
A beat.
Aria's stomach tightened.
Heard.
From whom?
She kept her expression neutral.
"Thank you."
The colleague nodded and left.
Aria stared at the empty screen.
Who had told her?
It wasn't public.
They hadn't announced anything.
No social media posts.
No office emails.
Just family.
Close circle.
So how?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
She didn't type anything.
Not yet.
She closed the laptop.
Took a breath.
No assumptions.
Information first.
When Leo came home that evening, she told him.
Not dramatically.
Simply.
"One of my colleagues congratulated me."
He paused.
"What?"
"She said she heard."
His expression shifted immediately.
"From where?"
"I don't know."
He frowned.
"That shouldn't be public."
"It isn't."
He studied her.
"Did you say anything?"
"No."
"Good."
He reached for his phone.
"Leo."
He stopped.
She stepped closer.
"I don't want investigations."
He hesitated.
"This could be a leak."
"I don't care."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"That matters."
"Not right now."
He exhaled.
"Aria-"
She touched his arm.
"Not everything needs to be a battle."
That made him pause.
He looked at her.
She continued.
"I don't want drama. I don't want accusations. If it spreads, we handle it. Quietly."
He searched her face.
She meant it.
No spiraling.
No demands.
Just boundaries.
He nodded slowly.
"Okay."
She softened.
"Thank you."
He kissed her forehead.
"You shouldn't have to deal with this."
She smiled faintly.
"I can handle it."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Debatable."
She laughed softly.
"Stop."
That night, they talked about names.
Not seriously.
Just ideas.
Leo suggested ridiculous ones.
She vetoed most.
They laughed.
It felt normal.
Not forced.
Not heavy.
Normal.
Before bed, she looked at him.
"Are you worried?"
He knew what she meant.
About the message.
About Milan.
About whatever past shadows existed.
He answered honestly.
"Yes."
She waited.
He continued.
"But I trust you."
Her throat tightened slightly.
"Why?"
"Because you're here."
That simple answer mattered.
She leaned into him.
"I don't want ghosts."
"Neither do I."
"Then we deal with facts."
He smiled.
"I like facts."
She grinned.
"Liar."
He kissed her.
Soft.
Grounded.
When they pulled away, she rested her head against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady.
Real.
She closed her eyes.
No fear.
No spiraling.
Just now.
But later, when he fell asleep, she stayed awake.
Not thinking about Milan.
Not thinking about messages.
She thought about something quieter.
Motherhood.
The idea of someone small depending on her.
The idea of teaching. Guiding. Loving.
It scared her in abstract ways.
Not because she doubted herself.
Because it was new.
But new didn't mean bad.
She placed a hand over her stomach.
Still too early to feel anything.
But she imagined it.
Life growing.
Quiet.
Invisible.
Real.
She whispered softly into the dark-
"I can do this."
Not a question.
A statement.
She believed it.
Maybe not perfectly.
But enough.
