The days blurred together.Clara had never been good at doing nothing. She was a woman of action a problem solver, a leader, a doer. Bed rest was a form of torture she had never anticipated. But she had made a promise, and she intended to keep it.So she found ways to cope.She worked from home. Cassian had set up a small desk beside her bed, complete with a laptop, a tablet, and a phone. She held video conferences with her team, reviewed reports, approved designs. Adrian had been understanding, telling her to take all the time she needed, but Clara could not simply disappear. Work was part of who she was.She journaled. A small leather-bound notebook sat on her nightstand, and every day she wrote a letter to the baby. She told it about the world it was coming into the family that loved it, the siblings who were waiting for it, the father who was already wrapped around its tiny finger.She read. Cassian had brought her a stack of books novels, memoirs, poetry collections. She lost her
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