Broken Waters...

°Amy’s POV°

It had been almost three weeks since Christian left.

Three weeks of texts that came in bursts — pictures of his dorm, random updates about the cafeteria food, and how his roommate snored loud enough to “vibrate the walls.”

I laughed at his messages, sent emojis, told him about home, about Grandma Lydia, about the baby — but there were still those quiet hours when his absence felt like an echo that didn’t stop repeating.

Still, I was okay. Or trying to be.

Mostly.

***

“Now, remember, Amy,” Grandma said one morning, adjusting her glasses and pointing her wooden spoon at me like it was a weapon. “No overworking yourself, you hear? You’ve got enough going on in there.” She nodded at my stomach.

I smiled. “It’s just part-time, Grandma. Four hours a day. I’ll survive.”

“You better. And don’t let them make you stand too long.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And eat before you go.”

“Grandma—”

She raised her eyebrows.

I sighed, grabbing a banana from the table. “See? Eating.”

She smiled then, sati