Chapter 80 080
DAYS had turned into weeks. Amelia had spent them all, thinking.
She walked into her bedroom and shut the door quietly behind her. The soft click echoed too loudly in the stillness, making her close her eyes for a moment. Her body sagged against the wooden frame as if she had been carrying the whole world on her shoulders. She let out a long breath, then opened her eyes, her hand instinctively falling to her belly. The gentle swell beneath her palm seemed bigger than the day before, pulsing with life even as her own heart felt fractured.
She began pacing slowly across the room, her bare feet brushing against the rug, her gown swaying faintly with each step. The room looked the same as it always had, neatly arranged, peaceful and almost serene, but her spirit was far from it. Her movements betrayed her inner turmoil: two steps forward, a pause, then a sharp turn, two steps back. She couldn’t stop moving, as if stopping meant she would crumble right there on the spot.
Her eyes landed on the crib standing quietly in the corner, a soft pastel blanket already folded neatly inside. She froze. For a heartbeat, her lips parted, and her hand gripped tighter on her belly. The sight was both a promise and a dagger, it was hope for the future, but also a reminder of the wreckage left behind her.
Her phone began to ring from the nightstand. Its sharp tone shattered the silence. She turned her head, staring at it, her expression unreadable. The name flashed boldly on the screen, but she didn’t move. She let it ring. And ring.
Instead, she walked to the window, pushing the curtain aside. The world outside seemed indifferent to her pain. The night breeze brushed faintly against the glass, carrying with it the scent of rain, and the city lights twinkled as if mocking her solitude. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her palm resting firmly against her stomach as though anchoring herself to the little lives inside her.
The phone rang again. She closed her eyes, willing it to stop. But it didn’t. The sound carried across the room, constant, relentless. It felt like a knock at the door she wasn’t ready to open.
Her throat tightened as she turned back to the nightstand. Her steps were slow, heavy and deliberate, like walking toward something inevitable. She hovered for a moment, staring down at the screen. Her reflection shimmered faintly on the glass, her face pale, eyes red-rimmed, lips trembling.
Finally, she reached out. Her hand hesitated midair, fingers hovering above the screen before she swiped. She lifted the phone, pressing it against her ear.
Her voice came out soft, low, steady, though it carried the weight of everything unsaid.
“Mom,” she whispered.