𝘝𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦

C. 26

Valentine

The mornings were the worst.

Not because of the nausea, though that came too, low and rolling, pulling her out of sleep before the sun had fully cleared the mountains. It was the stillness. The estate woke up slow and golden, birdsong threading through the open windows, the faint smell of coffee drifting up from the kitchen where someone, probably Aaleetia, was already awake. Everything about this place was designed to feel like peace.

Valentine hated it.

She sat on the edge of the bed in the guest room, feet flat on the cool tile, phone in her hand. The screen was a graveyard of blue text bubbles. All hers.

Can we talk?

I know you're mad. Just let me explain.

Quincey please.

I'm sorry.

Nothing back. Not a read receipt. Not a typing bubble. Just silence, stretching across days like something with teeth.

She locked the phone and pressed it face down against her thigh. The nausea pulsed again, and she breathed through it the way she'd been doing since the test. Slow in, slow out, jaw tight, like if she held herself still enough, the thing inside her would stay quiet too.

She hadn't told anyone. Aaleetia and Lyioris had been there when the lines appeared, but no one had spoken about it since. It sat between the three of them like a sound no one wanted to name. Valentine preferred it that way. Naming things made them real, and she wasn't ready for this to be real.

The estate sprawled beneath her window, lush and green and gated on all sides, bougainvillea crawling up stone walls, a pool that gleamed turquoise and untouched. Beautiful. Locked. Every direction she looked, something lovely blocked the exit.

She showered, dressed in loose linen pants and a tank top that hid the bloating she swore was already starting, and went downstairs.

The kitchen was wide and sun drenched, white tile and dark wood, fruit laid out on the counter like a still life. Aaleetia stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. Akasan, thick and sweet, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla curling through the air. She looked up when Valentine entered and smiled, careful and warm, the way she'd been smiling all week. Like Valentine was something fragile she was afraid to hold too tight.

"Morning, baby. You hungry?"

"No."

"You should eat something. Even if it's small."

Valentine poured herself water and leaned against the counter, not sitting. Sitting felt like staying. "I'm fine."

Aaleetia watched her for a beat too long, then turned back to the stove. "Okay."

The silence between them was new. Not hostile, but thin. The forgiveness Valentine had whispered in that bathroom still hung in the air, but it hadn't settled yet. It was like wet paint; she could see it, but she couldn't touch it without smearing everything.

"Carlos left early," Aaleetia said, keeping her tone light. "Business in Port-au-Prince. He'll be back this afternoon."

Valentine's jaw tightened at the name. She took a sip of water and said nothing.