[ELARA'S POV]
Thirty-six weeks and I lost my mind.
Not in a dramatic way. Just woke up one morning with this overwhelming need to clean everything. Organize everything. Prepare everything.
The nursery wasn't ready. The dresser drawers were empty. We didn't have enough diapers. The car seat wasn't installed. Nothing was ready and the baby was coming in four weeks and we were completely unprepared and—
"Elara." Damian caught my wrists. I'd been folding the same onesie for five minutes. "Breathe."
"I am breathing." I yanked my hands free. Kept folding. Unfolding. Refolding. "I'm just trying to get this done before Julian comes and we have no clean baby clothes and he has to wear Isla's old stuff which is all pink and—"
"He's not going to care if his onesies are pink."
"I care." My throat got tight. Swelling with something I couldn't name. "I care that nothing's ready. That we're not ready. That I don't know what I'm doing and—"
