Gwen's POV The whole house seemed to fall into conspiracy. Not in a magical way. In a practical, Valentian, almost military way. Martina didn't celebrate. Didn't overreact. Didn't interrogate me. She just rolled up her sleeves like she was accepting a mission. For a few minutes, I let her lead. "You're staying right there," she said, firmly guiding me into a chair at the kitchen table. "And you're drinking water." "I'm not sick," I muttered, obeying anyway. "You're pregnant," she corrected, as if that explained everything. "And you're pale. Water." I drank. And for a second, I saw myself through her eyes. Someone who had spent too long trying to be invincible. Someone who was now allowed to just be… human. Martina opened the fridge and assessed the ingredients like a general studying a battlefield. "Nothing heavy," she declared. "Tonight is about the heart, not the stomach." I almost laughed. "That was deep. For you." She shot me a look that was half reprima
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