Semua Bab My stepdad's fantasy: Bab 41 - Bab 50

Three years after the dumpDouro Valley, first night of autumnThe vines outside had gone that deep blood-red and gold you only get right before harvest. Inside the villa it smelled like woodsmoke and the fig tart I’d thrown together earlier nothing fancy, just buttery crust and whatever figs were left on the tree. Tomás had pulled out the 2018 we’d laid down the week we bought the place. Two glasses sat on the coffee table, catching the firelight like little rubies.We were tangled on the library couch, my head on his chest, legs hooked over his ,the turntable was doing its low, lazy jazz thing my gold band kept flashing every time I moved his was warm against my bare thigh where his palm rested.We had everything nowSafety,Quiet,Each other,But tonight something felt… different.He’d been watching me all evening with that half-lidded, dangerous stare the one that said the past wasn’t gone, it was just waiting for permission.I traced

Six weeks after those two pink lines showed upPorto, Portugal one rainy Friday nightThe bump was still pretty small, but you could definitely tell. Five months along and it rounded out the front of the black dress I’d picked on purpose super stretchy, neckline dipping low enough that the silver collar Tomás fastened around my throat before we left actually caught the light. To anyone else it probably just looked like some fancy necklace. To us it was the old green light: game on.We’d driven the hour and a half from the villa because the sleepy little Douro villages felt way too safe tonight. We wanted eyes on us. We wanted that fake little rush that still made everything spark even though nobody was hunting us anymore.The wine bar was one of those ancient stone places down by the river dim lights, jazz playing low in the background, couples squeezed around tiny tables. We grabbed a booth in the back corner, but not hidden away like we were hiding. Tomás ordered something fancy and

One month after the night on the terraceDouro Valley Vineyard Festival miid-summerThe whole valley had turned into one big glowing party. Strings of fairy lights looped through the vines, music thumped from a little stage at the far end, tables loaded with food and glasses of wine that I could only stare at longingly. My sundress was the softest thing I owned thin white cotton that clung to every new curve and did exactly zero to hide the bump. Eight months now, round and heavy and impossible to miss. Tomás had clicked the silver collar around my throat before we left the house, kissed the spot just below it, and whispered, “Tonight the whole festival gets to look, baby girl. But only I get to touch.”We blended in at first. Just another couple slow-dancing near the edge of the crowd while some local band played old Portuguese songs. His hand rested low on my back, then slid around to cup the underside of the bump like it was the most natural thing in the world. T

Four days after that parking-lot chaosDouro Valley villa the night we brought her homeLabor didn’t ease in gently it slammed into me.One moment I was in the kitchen, barefoot, stealing bites of toast and pretending I still had control over my own body. The next, everything changed. Water on the floor. My breath catching. Tomás moving faster than I’d ever seen him move hands steady even when his voice wasn’t.The drive to the clinic in Pinhão blurred into flashes: his grip on the steering wheel, the way he kept glancing at me like I might disappear, the sharp rhythm of pain that took over everything else.The birth itself felt like it belonged to someone else. Time stretched and snapped and twisted. There was noise mine, mostly ihis voice grounding me, refusing to let me drift too far. And then suddenlyA cry.Loud. Fierce. Alive.They placed her on my chest, and everything else fell away. The room, the pain, the hours before it all shrank down

Thirty minutes after the red lightDouro Valley villa, before sunriseNo one said it not out loud.But neither of us turned the monitor off.Tomás set it down slowly, like if he moved too fast it might… react. Like it was something alive instead of just plastic and wires. The red light blinked againslow, steady and then stayed there.Watching.I didn’t move from the bassinet. My hand stayed on Sofia’s blanket, barely even touching it, but enough to feel something real. Something that wasn’t… whatever this was.“Unplug it,” I said quietly.Tomás didn’t move.Not yet.I looked at him properly then Why not?Because if something’s connected to it, he said, voice low, too calm, “I want to know what.”A cold feeling crept up my spine.that means leaving it on.It means not tipping them off.Them “the word just sat there between us.Not a glitch.Not an accident.Someone.I swallowed, suddenly too aware o