Chapter 111 up
“Have you eaten?”
The question sounded ordinary, almost mechanical. Elara stopped stirring the soup in her bowl and looked up at Clark, who stood at the kitchen doorway, unfastening his wristwatch as if it were the only important thing he planned to do that evening.
“Yes,” Elara answered briefly. “You?”
“Later.”
The reply ended the conversation before it had the chance to truly begin.
Since her pregnancy became known, Clark hadn’t changed in any dramatic way. There were no big arguments, no harsh words, no outright rejection. That, somehow, was exactly what unsettled Elara. Clark was distancing himself too subtly—too neatly—like someone who knew precisely how to avoid without appearing to run away.
He still came home on time. Still asked about her health, reminded her of doctor’s appointments, even opened the car door for her once in a while. But everything felt procedural. Like items on a checklist to be completed, not gestures born from desire or anticipation.
That evening, they sat facing each other at the dining table. The hanging lamp cast a warm glow, yet the air between them felt stiff and cold. Elara watched Clark quietly—the way he cut his food, the way he chewed with careful focus, as though his mind were somewhere far away.
“Clark,” Elara said at last.
“Hm?” He didn’t look up.
“Can we talk?”
Clark stopped eating. He placed his spoon down slowly and let out a short breath. “About what?”
That tone. Alert. Guarded. Elara knew it well.
“About us,” she said. “About this baby.”
Clark gave a small nod. “What do you want to talk about?”
Under the table, Elara twisted her fingers together. She had rehearsed this question for days, weighing every word so it wouldn’t sound accusatory. But when it finally came out, her voice still trembled.
“Are you ready to be a father?”
The question hung in the air—heavy and exposed. Clark was silent longer than Elara had expected. He leaned back in his chair, staring straight ahead as if the answer might be written on the wall.
“I will take responsibility,” he said finally.
That wasn’t what Elara had asked.
“I’m not asking about responsibility,” she said softly. “I’m asking about readiness.”
Clark turned toward her. His gaze was calm—too calm. “Being a parent isn’t about being ready or not, Elara. It’s about fulfilling a role.”
The right answer. Mature. Reasonable.
And somehow, it felt like a blade being pressed in slowly.
“You don’t sound happy,” Elara said honestly.
Clark frowned slightly. “How am I supposed to sound?”
“Like someone who’s expecting their child,” Elara replied. “Not like a manager accepting a new project.”
Clark fell silent again. This time, the silence felt intentional.
“Elara,” he said eventually, his voice still steady, “I’m not rejecting this baby. I’m just being realistic.”
“Realistic about what?” Elara asked quickly. “About our lives? About our marriage?”
Clark exhaled. “About everything.”
The answer lingered without explanation. Elara lowered her gaze, staring at her stomach, which still showed no visible sign of change. Her hand moved there instinctively, resting as if to reassure herself that something was still there.
“So,” she said quietly, “what does this baby mean to you?”
Clark looked at her. “They are our responsibility.”
Elara closed her eyes. That word again. Responsibility.
“Nothing more?” she asked.
Clark hesitated, then shook his head slowly. “For now, that’s all I can say.”
Something inside Elara crumbled. Her chest tightened—not with anger, but with a disappointment too deep to be shouted.
She didn’t want Clark to make grand promises. She wasn’t asking for forced excitement. She just wanted to know that this child was welcomed—that their presence was desired, not merely accepted.
“I feel,” Elara said slowly, choosing her words with care, “like this pregnancy isn’t a blessing to you.”
Clark looked at her more seriously. “That’s not true.”
“Then what is it?” Elara asked. “Because every time I talk about this baby, you sound like you’re carrying a burden.”
Clark rubbed his temple. “You’re being too sensitive.”
The words landed hard.
Elara let out a small, bitter laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe I can just feel it when someone doesn’t want something that’s growing inside my body.”
Clark stood up from his chair. “I’m tired. Let’s talk about this another time.”
He walked toward the bedroom without waiting for a response. Elara remained seated, her spoon untouched in her hand. The house felt too large for two people who were drifting farther apart.
The night grew late. Elara lay alone, staring at the ceiling. Clark came in several minutes later, changed clothes quietly, then lay down on the far side of the bed. There was no touch. No continuation of the conversation.
Elara closed her eyes, but her thoughts refused to settle.
She began to understand something painful: Clark wasn’t angry about the pregnancy. He wasn’t rejecting it either. He simply… wasn’t welcoming it.
And that lack of enthusiasm hurt far more than open rejection ever could.
Tears slid slowly down Elara’s temples. She didn’t sob. She stayed still, holding back emotions that had nowhere to go.
In the darkness, Elara touched her stomach once more.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, more to herself than anything else. “I’m here.”