The second trimester brought a fragile kind of peace to Sofia’s body, even as the world around her remained fractured.
She stood on the sunlit terrace one warm afternoon, hands gently cradling the gentle swell of her belly. The brutal exhaustion and nausea of the first trimester had finally eased, replaced by a quiet, persistent energy and the frequent, fluttering kicks of their surviving child. Sofia closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of blooming jasmine from the garden below. For the first time in months, she felt something close to hope.
A strong kick pressed against her palm.
A soft, wondering laugh escaped her. “There you are,” she whispered, rubbing slow circles over the spot. “You’re getting stronger every day, aren’t you? Just like your father.”
She didn’t hear Luca approa
