After New Year''s Eve,


    A strange, gentle equilibrium settled between them.


    M stopped going near the darkened room; Lysander no longer swept her into his arms to tease or torment. They began to resemble any ordinary couple- perhaps even a married pair-sharing a bed, murmuring good morning and good night, eating together, reading side by side, and drifting through endless conversations.


    It was a rare, fragile peace.


    But one thing hadn''t changed: M still wasn''t allowed to leave the vi.


    Whenever she brought it up, Lysander always had a fresh excuse he couldn''t bear to let her out of his sight, he worried for her safety, someone out there meant her harm. His reasons grew stranger the more she pressed. And if she insisted, a look would flicker across his face—one that frightened her into silence every time.


    Eventually, M''s days blurred together. She grew sluggish, always tired, appetite fading, energy draining away. She leaned on Lysander more and more, until even the desire to go outside slipped away.


    She wilted, day by day.


    One afternoon, not long after lunch, drowsiness dragged her into sleep. Lysander quietly called in the family doctor.


    "Mr. Montgomery, the youngdy is pregnant. Judging from her condition, nearly two months along now."


    "Mr. Montgomery?"


    Lysander jolted, as if waking from a trance.


    He looked lost for a moment, then drew a slow, shaky breath, questioning the doctor over and over until the man nearly lost patience. Only when assured that everything was progressing smoothly did Lysander finally rx.


    Before the doctor left, Lysander sent Leonard to quietly remind him to keep this visit discreet.


    The doctor had always attended to his mother and was known for his skill, but bringing him here meant Lysander''s father would inevitably find out. The family couldn''t know not yet.


    Once the doctor was gone, Lysandery down beside M, gathering her gently into his arms. Half-asleep, she instinctively curled closer.


    She was carrying his child.


    Their child.


    The timing was all wrong, but it was also perfect—an unexpected turning point.


    He needed this child.


    Lysander told M nothing about the pregnancy. About a weekter, early one morning, he left.


    Before he went, he kissed her sleeping cheek.


    "This time, please, don''t let me down."


    He''d taken so many steps toward her. Now, it had to be M who came to him. When M woke, she called out for Lysander-but there was only silence.


    She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. Thinking he might be in another room, she slipped on her slippers and padded through the house, searching each familiar corner. But the vi was empty.


    He was gone.


    Panic drained the color from her face. She pressed her aching temples, not caring


    if Lysander would be angry, and hurried toward the front door.


    It opened without resistance.


    M froze.


    Outside, the courtyard stretched wide and empty. The winterndscape was bleak, sleet and rain swirling in the air, the cold wind carrying the scent of damp earth. For a moment, she yearned to step outside.


    But as she reached the threshold, she hesitated and shrank back.


    Lysander would be angry. And if he was angry-what then?


    A sharp pain stabbed behind her eyes.


    She crouched in the doorway, clutching her head, and only after a long moment did she stagger back inside. Desperate, she searched the house from top to bottom until she finally found her cell phone by the bed.


    She called Lysander.


    No answer.


    Something about the whole scene felt eerily familiar. She didn''t dare dwell on it. Had she... had she been abandoned again?


    Again?


    Just then, the shrill ring of her phone cut through the silence. She answered without thinking, only to be assaulted by a woman''s coarse, venomous voice, each word pounding in her skull.


    "M, you little brat! How dare you lie to us? If you don''t get over here right now, I''ll tell everyone at your college what an ungrateful, heartless daughter you are. I''ll hang myself right outside your school, and then you''ll burn in hell for what you''ve done-"


    The threats grew uglier, filthier.


    M hung up, dizziness and nausea overwhelming her. Unable to hold it in any longer, she stumbled to the bathroom and vomited until she was spent.


    When she finally stopped, she caught sight of blood in the mess.


    Her mind went nk.


    Terrified, she clutched her phone and rushed to the hospital, afraid she was seriously ill. But the truth was even harder to ept.


    Pregnant?


    She was pregnant. She was carrying a child—a new life, her own flesh and blood. Her child.


    M sat numbly on a bench in the hospital corridor, her phone buzzing nonstop with messages. Her parents bombarded her with threats and photos, telling her


    they''d already arrived at her school.


    Her already fragile nerves threatened to snap.


    What was she supposed to do? Who could help her?


    She needed someone-anyone-just to sit with her, to help her think.


    She called Miranda. No answer. She tried her great-aunt-still unreachable, locked away at work. Finally, swallowing the ache in her chest, she dialed Forrest. A woman picked up. Her voice was icy.


    "Ms. Suthend, stop harassing my son. You abandoned him, hurt him, put him in the hospital. If you have a shred of decency left, if you ever cared about him at all, you''ll leave him alone. He''s my only son. Please, have somepassion for a mother''s heart."