MasukThe final weeks before delivery tested Aira in ways she hadn’t fully prepared for.Physically, she was exhausted.Emotionally, she was stretched thin.Sleep became something unreliable, slipping away just when she needed it most. Some nights she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, shifting positions repeatedly in search of comfort that never quite came. Other nights she slept in fragments, waking to small movements, unfamiliar aches, or thoughts she couldn’t quiet.Anxiety surfaced without warning.Not constant.But sharp when it came.She worried about labor.About whether she would recognize the right moment.About whether she would manage it alone.She worried about finances—calculating costs she had already prepared for, then recalculating them again just to be certain.And sometimes—In quieter moments—She worried about the future.About the questions her child might one day ask.Questions about family.About absence.About choices she had made before this moment.Questions she w
As the months passed, Aira’s pregnancy progressed steadily, marking time in a way that felt both physical and deeply personal.Her body changed first.Subtly at the beginning, then in ways she could no longer ignore. Movements became slower. Fatigue lingered longer than it used to. There were mornings when simply getting out of bed required more effort than she expected.But alongside that—Something else was growing.Not just life within her.But strength.Balancing coursework with physical exhaustion demanded a level of discipline she hadn’t known she possessed. Her days were carefully structured now, each hour accounted for, each task approached with quiet determination.There was no one to rely on.No one to step in when she felt overwhelmed.So she adjusted.She learned.She endured.Prenatal appointments were the hardest.Not because of the process itself—But because of what surrounded it.She often sat alone in waiting rooms filled with couples. Conversations drifted around he
In Canada, Lucien’s routine did not collapse all at once.It unraveled slowly.Quietly.In ways that were easy to dismiss at first and impossible to ignore later.He maintained structure out of habit. Woke at the same time. Dressed with the same precision. Arrived at the office before most of his staff. On the surface, nothing about him suggested disruption.But beneath that—Something had shifted.Work became his refuge.Or at least, he tried to make it one.He extended meetings longer than necessary, lingering over discussions that could have ended sooner. He reviewed documents repeatedly, not because they required it, but because it delayed the moment he would have to leave.Because going home—No longer felt neutral.The house had changed.Not physically.But in the way it existed around him.Silence filled it differently now.It wasn’t the quiet he had grown used to.It pressed.It lingered.It followed him from room to room, settling into spaces that once held something he had n
The first few weeks in California passed more quickly than Aira expected.Not because they were easy.But because she refused to slow down long enough to feel them.Staying busy became her defense. Her structure. The one thing that kept her from thinking too much about everything she had left behind.Every morning, she woke before sunrise.Sometimes it was the pregnancy that pulled her from sleep—an uncomfortable shift, a restless ache she couldn’t ignore. Other times, it was the silence.The apartment was still unfamiliar in a way that unsettled her. Too quiet. Too still. There were moments when she would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, needing to hear something—anything—just to remind herself that she wasn’t suspended in between lives.So she got up.She moved.She created noise where there was none.Even if it was just the sound of water running in the kitchen or the soft scrape of a chair across the floor.It helped.A little.University life demanded more from her than she ha
The plane ride to California was long.Longer than she expected.Not because of the distance alone, but because time seemed to stretch in a way that made every thought feel louder, every decision more real.Aira sat by the window, her head resting lightly against the glass as the world shifted beneath her.At first, it was the familiar chaos of Lagos—crowded roads, scattered rooftops, movement that never quite paused. The kind of energy she had once been used to, the kind that had filled her days without her noticing.Then slowly—It faded.Replaced by quieter stretches.Open skies.Endless distance.The transition felt symbolic in a way she didn’t try to overanalyze.Her hand rested lightly over her stomach, her fingers moving unconsciously, grounding herself in something steady as everything else changed around her.She didn’t cry.Not when the plane took off.Not when the city disappeared beneath her.Not even when the weight of what she had done settled fully into her chest.But s
Lucien didn’t realize immediately.The house was large enough that absence could hide.Rooms could remain untouched for hours. Silence could pass as normal. Distance could exist without being noticed, especially in a place where quiet had long been mistaken for peace.He returned home late that evening, his mind still partially occupied with work, his movements automatic as he stepped inside.At first—Nothing felt unusual.The lights were off in most of the rooms. The air was still. Familiar.He set his keys down, loosening his cufflinks as he moved further into the house.It was only after a few seconds that something registered.The quiet.Not the usual kind.Not the kind that came from rest or routine.This was different.He paused slightly, his gaze shifting, his senses catching up to something his mind hadn’t fully processed yet.“Aira?” he called.Casual.Unconcerned.The way he always did.No response.He moved further in, his steps slower now, more deliberate.“Aira,” he call







