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Trinity looks away first, her hands resuming their rhythmic movement over her belly. "I might go to the city," she says finally. "Find work. Make a life for myself."
The words stab at me. A life for herself—without me, without our children. Just as we agreed.
I fucking hate it.
"You'd be good at whatever you chose to do," I say instead of what I really want to say, which isstay with me.
She glances up, surprise flickering across her face. "You think so?"
"I know so. You're intelligent, resourceful. Stubborn as a zarryn," I add with a half-smile. "You'd succeed at anything."
Something complicated passes over her features—gratitude, sadness, and something else I can't name.
"Thank you," she says softly.
I want to cross the space between us, gather her into my arms, tell her she doesn't have to go anywhere. But I made her a promise. Freedom. And if there's one thing I've learned about Trinity, it's that her freedom is precious to her—perhaps because she's had so little of it.
So I remain in my chair, watching her in the firelight, feeling the distance between us like a physical wound.
By her eighth month,Trinity moves with a waddle that she'd smack me for describing as such. Her belly protrudes dramatically, straining against even the loosest dresses. She tires easily but refuses to admit it, stubbornly pushing herself until I or Jackie intervene.
"I can make it up the stairs by myself," she insists one afternoon, even as she pauses on the second step, one hand braced against her lower back. There's only two more to get back inside and I don't want to see her struggle to make it.
"Of course you can," I agree, standing at the bottom of the staircase. "But why would you want to when I'm offering to carry you?"
She throws me a glare over her shoulder. "Because I'm not an invalid."
"No, you're just growing two entire people inside your body," I point out. "That might entitle you to some assistance."
Trinity huffs but doesn't immediately refuse when I step closer. In fact, I catch a flicker of relief in her eyes before she masks it.
"Fine," she relents. "But only because my feet are swollen."
I scoop her up as gently as possible, cradling her against my chest. She's heavier than before, but still feels small in my arms. Trinity loops her arms around my neck, her face close enough that I can count the freckles across her nose—a smattering that's appeared during her pregnancy.
"You don't have to do this, you know," she says as I carry her upstairs.
"Do what?"
"Take care of me like this. Our agreement only required that you provide for me during the pregnancy. Not that you..." She trails off, clearly uncomfortable.
"Not that I what?" I prompt, reaching the top of the stairs but not setting her down.
"Act like you care about me," she finishes quietly.
I stop walking, staring down at her. Does she really think I'm just acting? That everything between us is still just about our arrangement?
"Trinity," I begin, but she shakes her head.
"It's fine. I understand. You want to ensure the babies are healthy. I'm just the means to that end."
The words hit like a physical blow. Is that what she thinks? That I only care about her because of the children she carries?
"That's not—" I start, but she squirms in my arms.
"You can put me down now."
I set her on her feet reluctantly, my hands lingering around her waist to ensure she's steady.