By the fifth month my belly had rounded beautifully—firm and low, a gentle but unmistakable swell that pushed against every shirt I tried to wear, impossible to hide even under the biggest hoodies the brothers kept lending me.
The change was no longer subtle; it was impossible to miss.
My center of gravity had shifted just enough that I moved more carefully across the creaky floors, one hand instinctively resting on the curve as though I could already feel the life inside anchoring me.
The brothers noticed every tiny detail—the way the skin stretched smooth and taut, the faint silvery lines beginning to appear like delicate threads, the deeper color that bloomed around my n*****s and down the center of my abdomen.
They were obsessed with it.
Their hands always found the swell—resting
