Page 102 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva

“You’ve been quiet lately,” I say, not accusing. Just honest.

She looks at me, then away. “Just tired.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, but it’s not convincing.

“She’s growing fast,” she says, and she’s right. In the two months since her birth, Liliana has already outgrown my favorite of her onesies. “Every day feels like a new version of her. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You haven’t missed a thing.”

“I know, but still.”

There’s more to it. I can feel it in the way her fingers flex under mine.

I lean in and kiss her temple.

She sighs. “I’m okay. I promise.”

I don’t let it go, not really. I just hold her hand tighter and rest my cheek against Liliana’s soft head, watching Esme’s eyes flick between the fire and the baby and the thoughts she doesn’t quite say aloud.

***

The house has finally gone quiet.

Liliana is down for the night—fed, bathed, swaddled, and asleep with her fist curled beside her cheek. The monitor hums softly in the background as I finish locking up the downstairs. Lights off. Alarms set. The usual.

I take the stairs slowly.

There’s no sound coming from the bedroom when I push the door open, but I don’t need it to know she’s awake.

Esme lies on her side, half buried beneath the covers, her eyes fixed on the far window, even though the curtains are drawn. Her body is still. Her breathing even. But she’s not sleeping. I know what she looks like when she sleeps.

I step inside and close the door quietly.

“You’ve been sulking,” I say without warning.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t argue.

Her voice comes softly, without heat. “A little.”

I unbutton my shirt slowly, watching her in the low glow of the bedside lamp. “You want to tell me why?”

She shifts, then sits up, the duvet falling from her shoulder. Her hair is messy. Her eyes are tired. But what I notice most is that she looks hesitant. Not angry. Not emotional. Just… withheld.

“I feel invisible sometimes,” she says.

I pause.

Her voice doesn’t waver, but it cuts. “You’re always working. Or handling something. Or with the baby. And when you’re here… I know you love her. I know you love me, but—” She sighs. “It’s like I’m not in the picture anymore. Not the way I used to be.”

I study her in silence.

She meets my gaze. She’s braver than she thinks.

“I miss you,” she adds. “My husband. The man who once looked at me like I was the only thing in the room.”

I sit at the edge of the bed, and for a long second, I don’t say anything.