Page 55 of Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse #3)

With my newfound optimism, I decide to do something unimaginable. I go into the hidden folder in my email for the first time since leaving and open the countless emails from my ex-colleagues and acquaintances who reached out following the incident.

I wasn’t ready to read them before. I was too angry and hurt.

Now…it’s like the air needs to be cleansed, and that includes dealing with what I’ve been putting off.

Many of the people I’d seen every single day for years have said nothing about what happened.

It was supposed to be a secret, but something so serious quickly spread through the company anyway.

Some alphas stood with my rapists. They, perhaps feeling threatened in some weird way, agreed that it must have been the pheromones that caused it. My pheromones.

Most people stayed quiet on the matter. They were indifferent. Or so I thought…

In actuality, I find countless emails from men and women expressing their condolences, worries, and regret over not saying anything to me. Over not speaking up against those alphas or providing more support.

I feel a little stupid reading them, knowing I could’ve felt less alone if I had just opened them instead of pushing it aside and acting like I didn’t need anyone or anything.

Sometimes, it feels good to be helped. I wish I’d understood that earlier.

I don’t have time to read or respond to all of them, but I send out a couple of candid responses back. At least so that people know I’m alive and well.

By the time I’m done, it’s time for me to get ready and head out.

I take a quick shower, brush my hair back, and dress up in some comfortable clothes.

I wear one of my maternity sets—dark blue, cotton drawstring pants, and a matching long-sleeve shirt.

Studying myself in the mirror, I realize how damn huge I’ve become.

How can Theo find this…attractive?

“No offense, little melon,” I say to the baby. She stays unusually calm inside, probably because of the shower. She enjoys those. I imagine the sound of falling water makes her fall asleep.

As I run my finger over the bump, I realize that I haven’t really taken any pictures. My entire pregnancy, and there’s no more than maybe two images to show for it.

At the beginning, I was scared and unsure.

No matter how much I wanted her and cherished her, sometimes looking at my swelling abdomen only reminded me of what happened.

What they did to make it be that way. Then I got distracted.

With my time almost running out, a wave of fear hits me.

What if I miss this when it’s gone and I’ll have nothing to look back on?

I remember Mom’s messages, always asking me for updates. I’ve mostly ignored her, too.

Sighing, I go to the nursery. For some strange reason, I’m being pulled in by the cute bunny plush Mom sent with some of her old baby accessories she wanted me to have.

That was weeks ago. I take the bunny in my hand, curiously turning it around.

Apparently, it was mine. I don’t recall it at all, besides maybe seeing it in some of my baby pictures. It’s clean and well-kept for its age.

Moving my hand with it toward my belly, I compare how small it is. She is probably bigger than the plush now. Smiling, I pull my shirt up and take a picture. I feel silly doing it, but I think Mom will appreciate it.

The notification of Theo’s message pops up as I’m sending the photo.

Are you on your way? (you asked me to remind you because of pregnancy brain, in case you forgot)

Snorting, I put the bunny on top of the dresser, sitting it up nice and tidy.

Having a pee, then on my way. So demanding… *cocky frowning emoji*

?

Theo and I walk into the health center. Together. The long hallway with daffodil yellow walls leads us toward the room at the end, where many pregnant people flood in. Theo keeps glancing at me nervously—mostly when I’m not looking at him—like he’s been the entire way here.

“What?” I finally blurt out, half amused and half annoyed.

“It’s just that you look really nice with your hair up like that,” he says, staring at me even more intently now. I have to grab his wrist and pull him to the side so he doesn’t walk into one of the couples passing us with how distracted he is.

I frown, pursing my lips playfully. “Better than with it down?”

“Oh, no. I mean, it’s different. I need to get used to it, but I like it. I like you either way, of course.”

I chuckle. “Of course.”

We take one of the spots. Usually, I sit all the way in the corner and try to be invisible. This time, I don’t care where we go. It’s the last class for our group, so everyone has a partner. I can’t imagine how stupid I would’ve felt if I had come alone again.

“Why is everybody staring at me?” Theo asks, shifting nervously in the comfortable green chair next to me.

Furrowing my brows, I look around the circle and…

people are, indeed, giving him looks. I quickly hide my smile from him when Theo shoots me a confused grimace.

“These classes are for couples,” I say in a low voice, “which…I failed to notice when I signed up. I figured I wouldn’t be the only one coming by myself, and from time to time, people would turn up without a partner, but not that often. I think they…um…”

Theo widens his eyes in horror. “They think I’m some deadbeat dad who’s been letting his omega come here all by himself this whole time?” he pushes quietly through his teeth. I fight with all my might to stop grinning.

His omega. Mhm, I don’t like how powerful a response rocks through me at hearing those words. Even if it’s powerful in a rather pleasant way.

“Sorry.” I lean toward him with a whisper.

“Alright, everybody!” A melodic voice floats in from the open door.

Rachel, the midwife who’s been teaching the classes, swoops in with the same amount of pleasantly charged attitude as always.

Even she, with her bright blue eyes, fixates on Theo briefly while passing by us, though her judgment is much better hidden, camouflaged by a polite, not-entirely-genuine smile.

“We’re all present? Wonderful.” She claps her hands together and prepares her little table with brochures, printouts, and little books.

I tiptoe my fingers toward Theo’s hand resting over his thigh and wrap my fingers around his. He still looks worried about what others think of him, but quickly smiles, and thankfully, everyone else gets distracted by the beginning of the lesson shortly after.

“Alrighty, folks! Today, we’re going to be focusing on recapping everything we’ve learned, and reviewing your birth plans. There will be plenty of time for questions, too. I want you all to leave prepared, confident, and looking forward to meeting your little ones.”

Theo listens, barely paying attention to me, as Rachel goes through the signs of labor, what to do, and when to go to the hospital, and reminds us of the breathing techniques. He finally gives me a painful wince and a tight squeeze of my hand when we go through pain management.

The newborn care talk makes me uneasy, like it always does.

I still don’t feel quite ready. Though I know I’m not the only one, since plenty of more open and brave individuals from the group voice their concerns, I just can’t get it into my head that I’m an adult with an actual human being on the way who will be completely dependent on me for every single thing.

There will be a person in my life, forever, tied to me and relying on me for love and care and wisdom.

How does that even make sense? How does anyone do it?

Almost as if Theo can read my thoughts, he leans in closer, nudging my shoulder.

I look at him, and the faint scent of his spiced coconut aroma instantly puts me at ease.

“Are you in pain? You look like you’re in pain,” he says, knowing damn well I’m furrowing my brows and biting at the inside of my lip because I’m nervous.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispers into my ear, running his hands up and down my arms reassuringly.

I hesitantly smile and look away, feeling the baby stir.

It isn’t until Rachel starts going through the more intense, explicit realities that await me, like the specific birthing positions, risks, emotional well-being, and especially the aftercare, like dealing with changes after the birth, bleeding, managing pain, and postpartum mental health, that I realize how intimate having another person with me actually is.

Theo hangs on her every word, nodding with his lips parted, emotions flashing behind his eyes. I swear, if he’d brought paper and a pen, he’d be taking notes.

As Rachel goes on about warning signs of postpartum depression and anxiety—something we’ve already gone through in previous lessons, but I somehow blocked out because of the stress it caused me to even consider it—and the need for a partner’s support while managing a newborn, I shift my gaze to Theo.

I’m imagining him in all those scenarios, and they’re not as terrifying as they were before. Before, I was alone. And I could’ve done it alone, as many do, but…

“What would you say would be a good way to support your partner in this time, physically and emotionally? How have you been supporting each other throughout the pregnancy and leading up to birth, and how will you continue during and in those difficult first few weeks?” Rachel asks to start a discussion.

Hands go up before she even finishes the sentence.

“Stepping up at home without having to be asked.”

“That’s a great suggestion. Though…you should be doing that either way,” Rachel says with a playful wink, earning her a little chuckle from the group.

The man who asked rounds his shoulder a bit, but gets patted on the head by his boyfriend.

The more people throw out suggestions, the more it seems like they’re trying to win some sort of game of who’s a better, more caring partner. Theo and I stay quiet. His pensive gaze makes me wonder what’s going on inside his head.