I didn’t stay long at Clara’s birthday party.The music pulsed too loudly against my temples, the laughter felt sharpened like claws, and every time someone glanced my way, their eyes slid off again, as though looking too long at the pregnant human Luna might stain them.Rowan noticed me swaying near the dessert table, cheeks flushed from the heat and the ache in my lower back, and quietly arranged for the driver to take me home.“You look tired,” he said, not unkindly, but without meeting my eyes for more than a second. “Get some rest.”I was tired.Tired of watching an entire room treat Clara like she was spun from moonlight and glass, while they stepped over me without breaking stride.The car ride back was silent except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the driver’s radio.When we pulled up to the house, the big cedar-and-stone place Rowan and I had walked through together three summers ago, pointing at empty rooms and dreaming aloud about cribs and tiny
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