[ELARA'S POV]
Isla figured out I was pregnant before we officially told her.
Which was weird because she was eighteen months old and barely had a vocabulary beyond "mama," "dada," "no," and "mine."
But kids are weird like that. They pick up on shit.
I was lying on the couch one afternoon. Twenty weeks. Halfway there. Exhausted because this baby apparently thought my bladder was a trampoline.
Isla climbed up next to me. Patted my stomach. Looked at me very seriously with those gray Voss eyes.
"Baby." She said it clear. Certain.
I froze. "What?"
"Baby." She patted my stomach again. Harder. "In there."
"Who told you that?" But I already knew the answer. Marguerite had probably been preparing her for weeks.
"Grand-mère." Isla's pronunciation was terrible but we knew who she meant. "Baby coming. I'm big sister."
She said it so matter-of-fact. Like she'd known all along and was just waiting for the adults to catch up.
