His gaze lingered on her—on the slow, quiet rise and fall of her breathing, on the fragile stillness that had replaced chaos, at least for now.
For a moment, he did nothing.
Then he exhaled.
Heavily.
As though something inside him had grown too tight.
Before he could think it through—before control could return—his hand moved. It hovered over her. Then lowered. Carefully. Gently.
He touched her abdomen.
Not with force. Not even with certainty. Just… contact. As if he expected something. A reaction. A confirmation. Something that would make sense of what he still could not explain.
But there was nothing.
Only warmth.
Stillness.
Life he could not see.
His hand withdrew almost immediately. Too quickly. As though the act itself had crossed a line he did not yet understand.
His gaze shifted.
To the corner of the room.
To the shopping bags she had brought back. Soft fabrics barely visible through the packaging. Small things. Careful things. Things chosen without calculation.
