Chapter 148 Chapter 148
She felt real now; the next morning I woke up starving. Not normally hungry but desperately hungry. The kind that made my stomach twist like I hadn't eaten in days even though I had gone to bed full, and before my eyes even fully opened, I knew exactly what I wanted.
I sat up immediately, startling Zaiel awake beside me.
"What happened?" he asked, already alert.
"I need noodles."
He blinked slowly. "It is six in the morning, baby," he said softly.
"I know, but I need them now, please."
He studied my face seriously, like determining urgency level, before sighing quietly and reaching for his phone. Within twenty minutes someone downstairs was already cooking while I waited impatiently, pacing the bedroom despite repeated instructions to rest; that became the pattern.
Energy replaced exhaustion almost overnight, and suddenly staying still felt impossible. I followed Alina into the kitchen, helping arrange flowers until she gently guided me back toward a chair, walked through the garden with Dad discussing baby names, and reorganized drawers that absolutely didn't need reorganizing.
Everyone watched cautiously. "You're doing too much," Zaiel said at least five times daily.
"I feel good," I argued every time, and it was true.
For the first time, pregnancy didn't feel fragile or frightening; my body felt capable instead of unreliable, movement came easier, nausea faded, and confidence slowly replaced anxiety. The cravings, however, became completely unreasonable.
One afternoon I wanted strawberries dipped in melted chocolate followed immediately by salted crackers and orange juice, combinations that sounded horrifying yet tasted perfect. Damon stared at my plate in visible confusion.
"That can't possibly work," he said.
"It does," I insisted while eating happily.
Michelle refused to watch me eat my atrocious food, as she called it. Another evening I cried because the restaurant delivered the wrong brand of fries even though they looked identical and tasted the same, frustration overwhelming logic until Zaiel quietly replaced them without commentary.
He never laughed, not even once, even when situations clearly bordered ridiculous. Instead, he treated every craving like a mission of critical importance, which somehow made the emotions worse because his seriousness made me feel understood instead of dramatic.
My activity level worried everyone more than cravings did because I suddenly wanted to participate in everything again; sitting still made me restless, so I followed Dad into the garden, helping choose new plants for his space behind the house. He handed me small pots carefully.
"Your mother used to get like this," he said casually.
"Really?"
"Second trimester energy burst," he nodded knowingly.
We spent hours discussing flowers while he explained soil types, and even though I understood almost none of it, the calm routine was grounding in ways I didn't expect. Later Zaiel found us outside. "You've been standing too long," he said.
"I sat earlier," I said, and he crossed his arms unimpressed while Dad laughed openly.
"She's fine, son," Dad said. Zaiel clearly disagreed but allowed compromise when I promised to rest afterward. Even resting changed because instead of exhaustion I felt anticipation, afternoons spent planning nursery ideas with Alina while she shared stories about raising Zaiel, describing him as serious even as a child, which felt impossible yet believable.
"He protected everyone," she said fondly.
I rested my hand over my stomach, smiling softly. "She already has that trait then." He said, and the baby kicked strongly as if agreeing.
Evenings became my favorite part of the day because family gathered naturally around dinner tables or living spaces while I moved comfortably between conversations instead of watching from bed, laughter returning fully to the house.
One night cravings escalated beyond reason.
"I want grilled cheese," I announced. Relief crossed several faces because that sounded manageable.
"With honey," I added, and silence followed.
"And chili flakes," I continued. Damon left the room immediately. Zaiel simply nodded, heading toward the kitchen personally this time despite staff already present. Watching him cook carefully while reading instructions from his phone made warmth spread through my chest stronger than hunger.
"You don't have to do this," I said softly.
"I want to," he replied without looking up.
The sandwich tasted perfect, which made me emotional again, and tears appeared unexpectedly while eating, and he froze instantly.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I love you," I sniffed.
Confusion flickered before relief followed. Pregnancy emotions remained unpredictable, but happiness replaced earlier fear more often now.
At night when the house quieted, I lay beside him, feeling our daughter move steadily beneath my hands, conversations turning toward the future instead of survival.
"What if she hates me?" I whispered once; he turned toward me immediately.
"Impossible," he said.
"What if I'm not good at this?" I asked.
"You already are," he said simply. The confidence in his voice settled something fragile inside me. Weeks passed quickly, filled with appointments, laughter, strange meals, and growing anticipation. My body changed daily, yet instead of fear, I felt fascination watching life develop.
I caught myself talking to her sometimes while alone, telling her about the family waiting to meet her, about her grandfather's garden, and about how fiercely her father already loved her. Movement answered often, proof she listened.
One afternoon while walking slowly through the living room surrounded by cousins arguing over nursery furniture placement, I realized something unexpected: I wasn't scared anymore, not of pregnancy or loss, not even of the future, because every step forward happened surrounded by people who refused to let me fall alone.
And standing there six months pregnant, craving citrus candy while planning baby blankets, I understood fully: this wasn't survival anymore; this was happiness growing alongside my daughter every single day.
Month Seven
Zaiel
By month seven I finally allowed myself to breathe again when leaving the house each morning because Tessa's strength returned fully and the constant fear that followed the early months loosened its grip just enough for work to demand my attention again; returning to Rhyland Global felt necessary even if every instinct still preferred remaining within arm’s reach of her at all times.
That evening ran longer than expected with meetings stacking endlessly, and by the time I stepped through the front doors, all I wanted was to see her, routine taking over immediately as I handed off documents, ignored conversation attempts, and walked straight upstairs without stopping.
I didn't even check the sitting room, didn't ask who was visiting, or slow down, because coming home always meant going to her first.
The bedroom door opened quietly, and I barely had time to register movement before She crossed the room and collided with me, arms wrapping around my neck with urgency strong enough to force a surprised breath from my chest.
"You're late," she murmured against my collar.
"I told you I would be," I replied automatically, though my hands already settled at her waist, steadying her. Something felt different immediately; before I could question it, her fingers moved to my shirt, already undoing buttons with determined focus.
"Tessa," I said ,catching her wrists instinctively. She looked up at me with flushed cheeks and bright eyes filled with unmistakable intent.
"I waited all day," she admitted.