Baby Blues Threat
Week 28.
A night that started like any other.
Ava Blackwell was curled on the penthouse couch in one of Lucian’s old Harvard T-shirts, the soft cotton stretched tight over her rounded belly. Her feet rested in his lap while he rubbed them absent-mindedly with strong, careful hands, scrolling through quarterly reports on his tablet.
The baby had been kicking up a storm all evening little thumps against her ribs like a tiny drummer practicing for a concert.
Every kick made her smile, hand drifting to rest on the swell, feeling the life they’d created move beneath her palm.
Lucian glanced up every few minutes, eyes softening as they landed on her.
You’re glowing, he murmured for the tenth time that day.
She rolled her eyes but smiled. You say that every day.
