Chap 8
353 Words
By the eighth month Mara stopped measuring time the way she used to.
She no longer counted days or circled weeks on her calendar. Time had narrowed into limits; how long she could stand before her lower back began to throb, how many hours of sleep her body would allow before waking her, how far she can bend before the baby shifted. Every movement required intention now.
Helix stopped pretending.
The next communication came not as a request, but as a
directive reiterating post-birth protocols, outlining supervised hospital discharge, temporary housing arrangements, and a mandatory cooling-off period before any legal discussions.
Mara read the document twice, then set it aside. She didn’t cry or panic.
Nathan arrived that evening, unannounced. “I saw the new terms,” he said quietly, standing near the door. He didn’t sit. He rarely did anymore. “They’re escalating.”
“They think I’ll fold,” Mara replied. “Because I’m tired.”
“But you are tired,” he said gently.
“Yes, I'm,” she agreed. “But I’m not weak.”
That was the moment Nathan stopped standing apart. He stepped closer. “They want me to enforce this,” he said. “My parents, Noah and the agency. They think it’s cleaner if I’m the one who does it.”
“And will you?” Mara asked.
Nathan hesitated. “No,” he said finally.
Mara felt when the baby shifted hard, a sudden pressure that stole her breath. Nathan noticed immediately. “Sit,” he said, instinct overriding etiquette.
He stayed close without touching, eyes alert, protective in a way that surprised. “You’re not alone,” he said quietly.
“I know,” Mara replied, and this time, she meant it.
The final appointment of the month ended with Dr. Moore’s calm confirmation: everything was progressing exactly as it should.
That night, Mara stood by her window, city lights stretching endlessly beyond the glass. Her hand rested on her stomach, steady now, familiar.
“This is real,” she whispered to herself, to the baby, to the choice she was already making.
- Writer
