The Rhythm of Staying
Morning came in layers.
First, the generators shifted load—barely audible now, a sound most people slept through. Then footsteps in the corridor, measured and familiar. Somewhere outside, a gate opened and closed with the solid finality of routine.
Emily woke before the light reached the windows.
She lay still for a moment, one hand resting over her stomach, the other tucked under her cheek. The baby moved—small, unmistakable. Not a flutter anymore. A statement.
She smiled into the pillow.
Chandler stirred when she shifted, his arm tightening automatically around her waist. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she whispered. "Just... awake."
He hummed softly, still half-asleep. "Good awake or thinking awake?"
"Both," she said to him, still keeping that soft smile on her face
