blood orange sky (bwwm horror)

mother

It was late one evening, and Calliope was seated at the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped protectively around her growing belly. She had kept it hidden for as long as she could, loose clothing, turning away when he walked past—anything to keep this part of herself away from his cold, prying eyes.

But now, with the soft swell unmistakable, Lucas noticed. He walked over, his gaze settling on her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. "How long?" His voice was low, holding an edge that sent a chill through her.

Calliope kept her eyes on the floor, her throat dry, the words caught in her chest.

"How long, Callie?" he pressed, stepping closer until she could feel his breath, the tension radiating off him.

"... A while," she murmured finally, her voice barely audible.

Lucas's hand curled into a fist, and his eyes darkened. "You kept it from me," he said, his voice carrying a dangerous calm. "You thought you'd just hide it, and what, hope I wouldn't notice?" He shook his head slowly, a mocking smile tugging at his mouth. "That's not how things work here."

He leaned down, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "The next time you try to hide something from me, Callie, you'll end up in one of those barrels in the shed out back." The threat lingered in the air, heavy and unmistakable.

Her heart hammered, but she kept her face expressionless, her hands instinctively covering her stomach. The warning was clear, and so was the silence that followed—cold, suffocating, leaving her feeling trapped with no place to run.

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As the months passed, Calliope found herself sitting on the old wooden rocking chair near the window, her belly swollen and heavy with the weight of new life. She'd taken to knitting in the afternoons, her hands busy with soft yellow yarn as she crafted a blanket for the baby. It was one of the few things that brought her a quiet comfort, something she could pour herself into without feeling the weight of Lucas's gaze on her every move.

He leaned against the doorway, watching her with that intensity he always had, his deep brown eyes following the steady rhythm of her knitting needles. "Didn't know you had it in you to make something so nice," he murmured, a rare softness to his tone. He stepped closer, almost gentle as he reached out to feel the blanket she was working on. "You're talented, Callie."

She didn't respond, her eyes focused on the blanket as she continued to knit, one loop after another.

After a moment of silence, Lucas shifted his stance, his fingers running through his hair as if choosing his words carefully. "You know," he said, almost hesitant, "I think about you leaving. Sometimes it feels like that's all I think about." His eyes darkened, a slight edge to his voice. "Are you?"

Her hands stilled for a moment, her fingers tightening on the needles, but she didn't look up, didn't answer. She resumed knitting, the silence between them growing thicker, colder.

Lucas's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he waited for a response that wouldn't come. "I asked you a question, Calliope," he said, his voice carrying a warning.

She kept knitting, pretending not to hear him, focusing on each stitch as if her life depended on it. Her silence was deliberate, her defiance subtle but present, and it gnawed at him, feeding the simmering anger beneath his calm exterior.

Lucas exhaled sharply, pulling back from her, his expression hardening. "Fine. Keep your silence," he muttered, his tone laced with frustration. He turned and walked away, but the tension he left behind settled heavily in the room, weighing down every breath she took.

As she continued knitting, her hands steady but her heart racing, she knew her silence had consequences. But for now, this small act of defiance was all she had.