(Thomas' Chamber)
Lyla sat on a cushioned chaise, her pale hand resting over her swollen belly. She looked fragile—her once rosy cheeks now hollow, dark shadows beneath her eyes betraying restless nights. Across from her, Moira sat stiffly on an embroidered stool, her hands twisting the hem of her gown.
Lyla exhaled shakily. “It hasn't been easy. This pregnancy... it has drained every ounce of me,” she confessed in a low voice. Her eyes glistened. “I wake each day terrified, Moira. But Thomas... he’s so supportive. Always by my side, holding me, telling me everything will be fine.” A faint, wistful smile touched her lips.
Moira tried to return it, but her smile faltered, landing somewhere between hollow and forced. Lyla noticed immediately, her brows pulling together.
“What’s the matte
