By the second trimester my belly had begun to round—small but unmistakable, a gentle curve that appeared beneath my sweaters and drew every eye in the room whenever I moved.
The change was subtle at first, a soft swell I could still hide if I wanted to, but there was no hiding it from them.
The brothers noticed the moment it became visible.
Their hands gravitated there instinctively—resting, stroking, cradling—as though the mere touch could protect what was growing inside me.
They became almost feral in the most tender way possible: protective, attentive, reverent, as if my body had become something sacred they were all sworn to guard.
Matthew disappeared into the workshop for days at a time.
He would kiss me goodbye each morning—soft, lingering—then vanish behind the heavy door with
