The nursery smells like fresh paint.
That’s the first thing I remember.
Soft yellow walls.
White curtains.
A crib that cost more than most people’s rent.
I chose everything.
Every detail.
Every shade.
Every tiny star painted on the ceiling.
I remember standing in the doorway, one hand pressed to my stomach.
Six months pregnant.
Six months happy.
Six months believing nothing could touch us.
And then—
The hospital.
The blood.
The silence.
My breath shudders.
“I remember the room,” I whisper.
Adrian doesn’t speak.
He knows better now.
If he interrupts, I’ll lose it.
“The walls were yellow,” I say faintly.
“Yes.”
“There were stars.”
“Yes.”
“And the rocking chair.”
He swallows.
“White linen.”
My chest tightens painfully.
“I couldn’t go inside.”
“You locked the doo
