Zayn’s POV
It’s been a month, and still—no improvement in Alina’s mental state.
I’ve taken her to therapy every week, hoping for the slightest sign of change, but nothing. I hate seeing her like this—broken, distant, hollow. Losing our baby shattered her, and since then, she’s cut all ties with her family.
Now it’s just me.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she doesn’t lack anything.
I sit on the couch in her room, watching her sleep. Her face looks peaceful, but I know it’s only an illusion. If I could take her pain and carry it myself, I would. The silence between us feels heavier than words.
“You don’t have to stare at me like that,” her soft voice cuts through my thoughts. Her eyes flutter open, glassy but aware.
I stand up immediately and move closer. “Are you okay?”
