Three months passed without announcement.Not because nothing had changed.Because everything had.I had become quieter. Not in presence, but in reaction. I moved through days with precision, speaking when required, observing always. The notes in my phone grew longer. Dates. Words. Patterns. The bruise on my wrist faded, but the photographs remained.Chris settled into his assumption of control.He did not question my compliance. He did not notice its absence.That, too, I recorded. Not on paper. In understanding.And then, one morning, something shifted.It started small.A strange heaviness. A faint nausea that lingered longer than it should. I dismissed it at first. Stress. Lack of sleep. The usual explanations that made things manageable.By the third day, I knew.I stood in the bathroom, the early light pale against the tiles, holding the test in my hand.It felt lighter than it should have.I stared at it longer than necessary.Two lines.Clear.Undeniable.For a moment, I did n
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