Aria knelt on the floor of her small apartment, knees tucked under her, breathing in the sharp scent of paint and fresh linens. The morning sun filtered through thin curtains, dust motes swirling lazily in the light.
She wiped her damp palms on her jeans, a smudge of white on the fabric, and pressed a small hand against her rounded stomach.
“You’re going to like it here,” she whispered softly, almost to herself. “This is your space. Our space.”
Mrs. Grace, standing by the doorway with a tote bag slung over her shoulder, watched her with a fond smile. “Almost done, love. Just a few more things. You’ve done so well.”
Aria gave a small, exhausted laugh. “Done? I’ve barely started. I still need diapers, wipes… the stroller.” Her voice caught a faint tremor in the middle. “Everything feels
