Chapter 5: Early Signs

“You’re glowing.”

Amara smiled tightly. “I’m six weeks pregnant. I’m exhausted.”

Cheryl sat across from her at a corner café. Fewer people. Less chatter. Less chance of being overheard. Amara had chosen it intentionally, craving space from the world that kept trying to guess how she felt.

Cheryl leaned in, eyes sparkling with the kind of curiosity Amara had once found charming and now found quietly suffocating. “But you’re happy, right?”

The women sipped their drinks. Cheryl’s face hovered between concern and forced optimism. Her vanilla latte looked too indulgent, but she sipped it like it was her job to look casual. Amara nursed a tea that tasted like disappointment.

“I mean,” Cheryl pressed, “you’re living in his building now? That address is insane. A loft with floor-to-ceiling windows, skyline views… It’s like something out of Architectural Digest.”

Amara stirred her tea with more force than necessary. “Yeah. It’s nice.”

“You always wanted natural light. And now you’ve got views.” Cheryl smiled, nudging her foot beneath the table. “Don’t pretend you’re not at least a little in love with those blackout curtains.”

Amara chuckled softly. “They are kind of perfect.”

The moment flickered—easy, familiar—but then Cheryl added, “So… have you seen him again?”

And there it was.

“Not really.” Amara shrugged. “He’s busy.”

“You’re literally carrying his child.”

Amara looked down. “I know.”

Cheryl leaned back. “I just—sorry, I’m trying not to pry. But it’s so surreal. All of it. I’d be losing my mind.”

“I am,” Amara said, quieter than she meant to. “I just don’t get to show it.”

Cheryl’s expression softened. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Amara smiled. “But I am doing it alone.”

And that was the truth. There were people around her—liaisons, doctors, even friends—but no one inside this experience with her. No one whose world would be shaken if she cracked.

---

Later, back in the loft, she sat cross-legged on the enormous bed, scrolling through her schedule. A ping came in from the liaison:

> Reminder—your first ultrasound is in two days. Arrive fifteen minutes early. No food or drink two hours prior.

She added it to the calendar and let the phone fall beside her.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. The silence of luxury, the kind that muffled emotion.

It was a beautiful space. Open. Glass walls. Soft light. A modern kitchen she barely used. The kind of home people dreamed about. It looked like it belonged to someone happy.

She walked to the wall of windows, pressing a hand to her belly. Still flat. Still not real enough to explain to strangers or herself.

The sunlight caught the edge of her necklace—one her mom gave her before she passed—and for a second, Amara felt like herself again.

But only for a second.

---

The day of the ultrasound, she dressed carefully. Comfortable but presentable. Neutral makeup, soft cardigan. She didn’t know why she felt the need to look composed. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was defense.

At the clinic, Dr. Ahn greeted her with a calm smile.

“Ready?” she asked gently.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Amara lay back on the exam table, heart racing as the cold gel touched her stomach. She stared at the ceiling tiles. Tried to count them. Focus on anything but the sound of her own breath.

And then it happened.

A flicker on the screen. A pulsing blur.

“That’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Ahn said softly. “Congratulations.”

Amara blinked. The sound was soft, almost mechanical, but it took her breath away.

It was real.

Celeste stood in the corner, as usual, silent and polished. Tablet in hand.

The moment wasn’t private. It didn’t belong entirely to Amara. But still—still—it changed something in her. That flicker on the screen. That thump. That tiny sign of life.

She was carrying someone.

Not just Liam’s child.

Someone new. Someone innocent. Someone beginning.

When Dr. Ahn stepped out, Celeste cleared her throat.

“Mr. Blackwood has requested regular updates,” she said. “Nothing detailed—just confirmation of progress.”

“He hasn’t asked me anything,” Amara replied without looking at her.

Celeste’s expression didn’t change. “He prefers formal channels.”

Translation: He prefers distance.

---

Back at the loft, Amara made herself a grilled cheese and couldn’t finish it.

Her sense of smell had turned against her. Everything was too sharp—too buttery, too fake, too much. She pushed the plate away and opened the window instead, letting cool air touch her face.

Her emotions simmered near the surface all day. Everything felt louder. Colors brighter. Her own thoughts heavier.

She found herself crying over a cat food commercial that evening.

It wasn’t even a sad commercial. Just a kitten finding its way home. But something about the journey, the gentle mewing, the reunion—it cracked something in her.

She curled up on the couch and let the tears fall. Not dramatic sobs, just quiet, exhausted release.

There was no one to see her cry.

And somehow, that made it worse.

---

That night, Amara stood barefoot in the kitchen, sipping peppermint tea and staring at the marble countertops. Her phone buzzed. A new notification from Celeste:

> Confirming delivery of pre-natal supplements and adjusted grocery allotment. Let us know if you have dietary restrictions.

Amara deleted the message without responding.

She didn’t want efficient. She didn’t want curated care. She wanted connection. Someone to ask her how she really felt. Someone who didn’t reduce her to a file or a womb.

She wanted Liam to remember.

She wanted him to see her.

But she knew better.

---

She lay down that night and placed both hands over her belly. Not because it hurt, but because it was the only place that made sense to hold.

“Hi,” she whispered.

No reply, of course. Just her voice, small in the dark.

“I don’t know what you’ll be like. Or who you’ll become. But I already hope you’re more than what he paid for.”

She exhaled slowly.

“You’re not a transaction to me.”

And maybe that was enough, for now.