Ava’s POVThe penthouse had become a world of its own — soft lights, quiet voices, and the constant rhythm of Ethan’s hand on my belly. I lay against the pillows, my body heavy with rest I didn’t always want. The ache in my side was still there, a steady, squeezing pressure that flared when I moved too much or laughed too hard. I kept one hand on my belly, feeling the baby’s kicks like small promises that we were still okay.Ethan sat in the chair beside the bed, his laptop open, but his attention kept drifting to me. He had barely left the room in days. Every time the baby kicked, he would stop working, rest his palm on my belly, and talk to the little one in that low, warm voice that always made my chest feel lighter.“You’re already so strong,” he murmured that afternoon, thumb stroking slow circles. “Just like your mom. Keep fighting in there.”I smiled and let my fingers thread through his hair. The ache sharpened a little while I laughed softly, but I breathed through it without
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