Millions of euros.
The number should scare me.
It doesn’t.
Construction begins.
It’s loud, messy, demanding. Dust coats everything. Workers shout. Machines roar. But I show up, twice a week, sometimes more. I ask questions. I inspect details. I refuse shortcuts.
They don’t see a pregnant woman.
They see the owner.
Life moves alongside the project.
Hospital checkups become routine. I’m already six months gone. My baby is healthy. Strong.
Nina begins culinary school.
She comes home every day with stories, failed dishes, strict instructors, recipes she’s desperate to master. Our kitchen becomes her practice ground. Sometimes the food is incredible. Sometimes it’s… experimental.
I eat everything anyway.
Months later, the exterior is complete.
The day I see it fully formed, my brea
