Light spills through the sheer curtains in long golden strips. For the first time in what feels like weeks, I wake without that weight on my chest. Just the quiet rhythm of early morning, soft and forgiving.
I blink into the stillness. The room smells like lavender and clean sheets. A breeze curls in through the window.
Everything feels... changed. Not solved. Not simple. But shifted—like the earth tilted just slightly overnight, realigning everything inside me.
And then it happens.
A deep cramp blooms low in my belly.
I sit up fast. The bed creaks under me. It’s sharp, and real, and sudden.
And then again—stronger.
“Oh—oh, God,” I whisper, bracing my hand against the wall.
My phone is on the nightstand. I fumble for it, fingers shaking—not from fear, but adrenaline. Anticipation.
