Vivian’s pov ;
The rich aroma of herbs filled the room as Asher’s grandmother stirred the soup she had insisted on making for me.
I sat at the dining table, feeling slightly awkward under her watchful gaze. She had arrived that morning, flustered and scolding everyone in sight about my health—or rather, the lack of care I’d been receiving.
“Vivian, my dear, this soup will help strengthen you and the baby,” she said warmly, ladling some into a bowl. “It’s an old family recipe for pregnant women. And you need proper nourishment.”
“Thank you, Grandma,” I said softly, touched by her care. The soup smelled earthy and slightly spicy, with notes of ginger, garlic, turmeric, and something floral—maybe chamomile.
She sat beside me while I sipped the soup, the warmth spreading through me like
