The next morning, Elena stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the soft beige sweater Brittany had laid out for her.
Her stomach was still flat, barely hinting at the life growing inside her, but something about preparing for the class made it feel more real.
She arrived at the wellness center quietly, escorted by one of Luca's drivers.
The building was warm and serene, with soft lighting and pastel walls that smelled faintly of lavender.
Inside the small classroom, a few other women were already seated—some visibly pregnant, others like her, still early in their journey.
The instructor, a gentle-looking woman named Nurse Ryan, smiled warmly as Elena entered.
"Welcome, Miss Hart," she said. "You're right on time."
Elena nodded and took a seat near the back, her fingers laced tightly in her lap.
The class began with introductions, then moved into the basics—what to expect in the first trimester, how the body changes, what symptoms were normal, and how to care for oneself emotionally and physically.
Elena listened quietly, absorbing every word.
She didn't speak much.
But she took notes.
She asked one question—about fatigue and nausea.
Ryan smiled at Elena's question, her voice calm and reassuring.
"Fatigue and nausea are very common in the first trimester," she said. "Your body is working overtime to support the pregnancy. It's okay to rest more than usual. Listen to your body."
Elena nodded, scribbling the answer into her notebook.
Ryan turned to the group.
"Let's talk about emotional changes," she said. "How many of you have felt more sensitive or overwhelmed lately?"
A few hands went up.
Elena hesitated, then slowly raised hers.
Ryan smiled gently. "That's completely normal. Hormones like progesterone and estrogen are rising fast. They don't just affect your body—they affect your mood, your sleep, even your appetite."
One woman near the front spoke up. "I cried because my toast was too brown."
The room chuckled softly.
Ryan nodded. "Exactly. It's not silly—it's chemical. And it's okay."
She walked toward the whiteboard and wrote: Rest. Hydrate. Talk. Breathe.
"These are your tools," she said. "You don't have to do this alone. Whether it's a partner, a friend, or even a journal—find a way to express what you're feeling."
Elena looked down at her notebook again.
Ryan continued, "Now, let's do a short breathing exercise. One hand on your belly, one on your chest. Inhale slowly through your nose… hold… and exhale through your mouth."
The room quieted.
Elena followed the rhythm, her hand resting gently on her stomach.
For the first time in days, her breath felt steady.
Ryan smiled. "Good. That's your anchor. Use it when things feel too loud."
The session continued with tips on nutrition, gentle movement, and what to expect in the coming weeks.
By the end, Elena felt lighter—not just physically, but emotionally.
She wasn't just learning.
She was beginning to connect.
The car ride back to the mansion was quiet.
Elena sat in the back seat, her notebook resting on her lap, her fingers tracing the edge of the page.
She stared out the window, watching the city blur past—cafés, bookstores, people going about their lives.
But her mind was still in the classroom.
Ryan's voice echoed gently in her thoughts.
Rest. Hydrate. Talk. Breathe.
She placed a hand on her stomach, not because she felt movement, but because she finally felt connected.
For the first time, the pregnancy didn't feel like something happening to her.
It felt like something she was part of.
When the car pulled into the mansion's driveway, she stepped out slowly, her body still tired but her spirit steadier.
Inside, the house was quiet.
Luca wasn't home.
But Brittany was waiting in the sitting room, a book in her lap.
She looked up as Elena entered.
"You're back," she said with a smile. "How was the class?"
Elena sat beside her, setting her notebook down.
"It was… good," she said softly. "Better than I expected."
Brittany leaned in, curious. "What did they talk about?"
Elena hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Everything. The symptoms, the emotions, breathing exercises… even how toast can make you cry."
Brittany laughed. "That sounds about right."
Elena looked down at her hands. "The instructor—Ryan—she was kind. She made it feel normal. Like I'm not crazy for feeling all this."
"You're not," Brittany said gently. "You're just pregnant."
Elena nodded.
Then, after a pause, she added, "I think I needed that class more than I realized."
Brittany reached over and squeezed her hand.
"I'm glad you went."
The sun had dipped low, casting a soft amber hue across Elena's suite.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her sweater now folded neatly on the chair, dressed in a loose cotton top.
Her body felt warmer than usual, and there was a dull ache she couldn't ignore.
She shifted slightly, then winced.
Her breasts felt sore—tender to the touch, heavier than they had been just days ago.
She leaned back against the pillows, pressing her palm gently over her chest, trying to ease the discomfort.
It wasn't unbearable.
But it was new.
She sighed softly, remembering Ryan's words from earlier.
"Your body is working overtime."
She reached for the small bottle of lotion Brittany had left on her nightstand and rubbed a little between her palms before gently massaging the area.
The relief was subtle, but enough.
She lay back again, staring at the ceiling.
Her body was changing.
And this time, she didn't feel afraid.
Just aware.
It was 7:15 PM when Elena descended the grand staircase, the soft amber glow of the sconces casting long shadows along the walls.
She had expected to see Luca at the dining table—his usual seat at the head, the quiet clink of cutlery, maybe even a glance in her direction.
But when she entered the dining room, the table was empty.
No plates.
No presence.
Just silence.
Her steps turned toward the hallway, brows slightly furrowed. She found Brittany seated on the edge of the velvet couch in the sitting room, her tablet balanced on her lap, fingers tapping swiftly across the screen.
"Brittany," Elena called gently.
Brittany looked up, her expression shifting from focused to attentive. "Yes?"
"Where's Mr Moretti?" Elena asked. "He's not at dinner."
Brittany set the tablet aside and stood.
"He's not in the city at the moment, Elena. He's out for a meeting and will return in a few days… maybe a week."
Elena's expression softened, concern flickering in her eyes.
"He didn't inform me…"
Brittany offered a reassuring smile. "It was impromptu. He didn't mean to not inform you."
Elena nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a faint smile.
"Okay," she said quietly.
She turned and walked back to the dining room.
The staff had already begun setting her place.
She sat down at the long table, alone this time.
The silverware gleamed under the chandelier, and the soft clatter of dishes filled the silence.
She ate quietly, her thoughts drifting—not just to Luca's absence, but to how much she'd felt his absence already.