T H I R D
Weeks slowly turned into months.
And somewhere between late-night conversations, doctor appointments, and quiet dinners at the safe house, something shifted between Ricardo and Oria.
Not romance.
Not exactly.
But familiarity.
Trust.
A strange comfort neither of them had expected to find again after losing so much.
The baby grew.
And so did the reality of everything.
By the seventh month, Oria's stomach had rounded beautifully, impossible to hide now beneath oversized sweaters and soft dresses Ricardo had quietly bought for her after overhearing her complain that none of her clothes fit anymore.
She pretended not to notice when the bags mysteriously appeared in her closet.
Ricardo pretended not to notice when she kept every single item.
That morning, rain softly tapped against the windows of the safe house while Ricardo sat beside Oria during another doctor's appointment.
The screen flickered softly in grayscale.
Heartbeat steady.
Strong.
Healthy.
Ricardo watched the monitor like it held the entire universe inside it.
The doctor smiled warmly.
"Everything looks perfect."
Only then did Ricardo finally breathe again.
Oria noticed immediately.
"You do that every time," she teased softly once the doctor stepped away.
Ricardo frowned slightly.
"Do what?"
"Stop breathing until they say the baby's okay."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
Ricardo looked mildly offended.
Oria laughed quietly for the first time in days.
God.
That laugh.
It was becoming dangerous for him.
After the appointment, Ricardo drove her back to the safe house personally like always.
He never trusted anyone else enough.
Never would.
The rain had stopped by then, leaving the world cool and gray outside the windshield.
Inside the house, Oria carefully lowered herself onto the couch with a tired sigh.
Ricardo immediately noticed.
"Tired?"
"A little."
"You should rest more."
"You sound like an old man."
"I am older than you."
"Not old."
Ricardo hummed quietly at that.
He moved toward the kitchen automatically, grabbing her a glass of water before returning.
YOU ARE READING
Bonita
General FictionShe was only 8 years old. 8 years old and she saw her mother get killed by a drive by. From that day poor Nova has been traumatized and has been to foster home to foster home. At the age of 12, Nova has anger and trust issues, never letting anyo...
