Fifty
Zaria’s thoughts raced sharp and relentless. She sat on the edge of the bed, Cillian’s familiar weight gone from her arms, the quiet of the room suddenly too loud. Outside her window the estate carried on but in here, everything felt suspended. Like the world was holding its breath and waiting for her to decide what kind of woman she was going to be. Her palm hovered over her lower belly. She didn’t press hard; she didn’t dare. She only rested her hand there; fingers spread, as though she could protect what she could not even see. There was a heartbeat beneath her touch. Faint. Unsteady. Like a candle flame fighting a draft. Her throat tightened again, and she swallowed hard, trying to force her panic into something she could manage. She closed her eyes and reached inward the way
- Writer
