The words hung in the air between them, sharp and cold as winter glass.
Maya stood in the doorway of the dim room, one hand still pressed to her stomach, a gesture that had become unconscious over the past hours, as if her body knew before her mind did what needed protecting. She didn't turn around. Couldn't. If she turned around and saw his face, saw whatever was written there, hurt, hope, desperation, she might lose the thread of herself entirely.
"I'm keeping this baby." Her voice was steadier than she felt. Stronger. The voice she'd learned to use in her father's house, the one that gave nothing away. "And I'm keeping it for me. Not for you. Not for them. For me."
Behind her, Ethan didn't move. She could feel him there, a presence in the darkness of the room, his breathing slow and measured in a way that meant he was working very hard to keep it that way.
