The drive home was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—but the suffocating kind that pressed against Roy’s ears until every breath sounded too loud. Karen sat in the passenger seat, her head turned toward the window, one hand resting on her stomach, the other clutching the hospital discharge papers like a fragile trophy.
Roy’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
Every few seconds, his eyes flickered toward her—then quickly away again.
She looked smaller than she had that morning.
Not weaker.
Just… calculatedly vulnerable.
He hated himself for noticing that.
The hospital scene replayed endlessly in his mind—the sudden dizziness, the way she had clutched her abdomen, the panic in her voice when she whispered “Roy, something is wrong.” The doctors’ calm but urgent tone. The
