Page 7

Kai's hands move with practiced efficiency, checking my lymph nodes, listening to my heart with a small wooden amplifier pressed to my chest. Each silent nod, each thoughtful hum from her throat, only tightens the knot of dread forming in my stomach.
"Take a deep breath for me," she instructs, her weathered hands warm against my back.
I comply, my mind racing ahead of her diagnosis. The missed cycles I'd attributed to stress. The exhaustion I'd blamed on long hours. The nausea I'd convinced myself was just a stubborn stomach ailment.
"Ronnie." Kai sits back on her heels, her brown eyes gentle but unflinching. "I need to ask you a more direct question about your relationship with the xaphan."
My jaw tightens. "His name is Araton."
"With Araton, then." She doesn't flinch at my defensiveness. "When was the last time you were... intimate?"
The heat crawls up my neck despite my best efforts. "A week ago. He comes through on the same route each month."
"And before that?"
"The month before. And the month before that." I look away, focusing on a crack in the storeroom wall. "It's been going on for about a year."
Kai nods, processing this information with clinical detachment. "And there's been no one else?"
The question stings more than it should. My eyes snap back to hers. "No."
"I had to ask." Her voice softens, but her gaze remains steady. "Based on all the symptoms and what I can feel... Ronnie, you're pregnant. About three months along, I'd estimate."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I've known it was coming—have suspected it since she first began her examination—but hearing it spoken aloud makes it real in a way I wasn't prepared for.
"That's not possible," I whisper, even as my hand instinctively moves to my still-flat abdomen. "Humans and xaphan can't?—"
"Oh, they can." Kai rises, her knees cracking slightly. She's seen everything in her years as our village healer, but even shecan't keep the concern from her eyes. "They just usually choose not to."
My mind flashes to the villagers outside, to Mrs. Hemming's judgmental stare, to the whispers that have followed me since Araton first stepped into my shop with that insufferable smirk and golden eyes that seemed to see right through me. The village barely tolerates my monthly "visitor" as it is. A half-xaphan child would be?—
I can't even complete the thought.
"You're certain it's his?" Kai asks, her voice carefully neutral.
The question lands like a slap. My gray eyes narrow, and I feel the familiar anger rising—the defensive wall I've built since childhood.
"Yes, I'm certain it's his," I snap, standing too quickly and grabbing the wall as dizziness sweeps over me. "Contrary to what this village thinks, I'm not spreading my legs for just anyone who passes through."
Kai doesn't react to my crudeness. "I meant no offense. I only ask because if there were any... human possibility, the situation might be less complicated."
The bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. "When has my life ever been uncomplicated?"
She gives me a small, sad smile. "Fair point."
I sink back onto the stool, suddenly exhausted beyond measure. The shop feels miles away, though it's just beyond the thin storeroom door. Out there is a world that has never quite accepted me—the sharp-tongued orphan who keeps to herself and now apparently beds xaphan. What will they say when my belly swells with the evidence?
"What am I going to do?" I whisper, hating the vulnerability in my voice, the tremble in my hands.
Kai doesn't offer platitudes or easy solutions. Instead, she kneels again, taking my cold hands in her warm ones. "First, youneed to take better care of yourself. Proper food, rest. I'll mix you something for the nausea that's safe for the baby."
The baby. The words make it even more real.
"And then?" I ask, meeting her gaze.
"Then you decide what comes next." Her grip tightens slightly. "But whatever you decide, you don't have to face it alone."
Alone. It's all I've ever been. Even with Araton's monthly visits, I've kept him at arm's length, refusing to acknowledge what happens between us as anything more than physical release. I've never allowed myself to need anyone.