Chapter 68
The housekeeper steps into the room with a polite bow. “Dinner is ready p>
Everyone rises, and we head toward the dining room. The table is long and elegant, set with silverware and crystal that catch the chandelier’s light.
As much as Aunt Ava loves cooking. As much as she prefers being the one to cook for a family, once in a while she lets their chef cook dinner.
I’ve had meals here more times than I can count (When Noah wasn’t around, of course), and they were always warm and easy. Just about catching up, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. Never anything like this.
Tonight feels different. Too serious. Too formal. The weight of it hangs heavy in the air, pressing against my chest until it’s hard to breathe. It makes my skin crawl in a way I can’t quite shake.
Everyone takes their seats, and Noah ends up directly across from me. His presence alone feels like a wall I can’t climb. I keep telling myself to act normal, to breathe, to smile, but every movement feels rehearsed, stiff and wrong under the weight of his unreadable eyes.
Dishes are carried in, steam curling into the air.
The moment the scent reaches me, my stomach twists violently. It’s rich, heavy, spiced, and probably delicious to everyone else, but it makes bile rise in my throat. I swallow hard, trying to keep it down, but my body rebels. 1
“Excuse me,” I blurt, pushing back from the table before anyone can stop me. 1
In the bathroom, I grip the sink, taking slow, shaky breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Over and over until the wave of nausea passes, leaving me drained and clammy. I splash cold water on my face, wash my hands, and force myself to be steady before going back.
When I return, I stop short. Nova is seated in the chair beside mine, grinning up at me.
“I wanted to sit next to you,” she says proudly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Something warm blooms in my chest. I gently pat her soft locks and then smile.
“I’m sorry for the trouble,” I murmur as I sit.
“Don’t be silly,” Aunt Ava says gently from across the table. “I completely understand, Si. The first trimester was brutal p>
Her words tug something deep inside me. I smile, grateful, but I don’t touch the food on my plate. My stomach clenches at just the thought.
Then Aunt Ava suddenly rises. Everyone pauses, watching her leave the table. Minutes pass before she returns, carrying a small tray. She pushes the plates set for me aside and then sets a bowl and a plate of bread down in front of me with such tenderness it makes my throat ache.
“I made this for you earlier, just in case,” she explains softly. “Salted broth and bread. When I was expecting, it was the only thing I could keep down p>
The kindness breaks me open. My eyes sting before I can stop them. “Thank you, Auntie,” I whisper, my voice catching.
“Anything for you, sweetheart” she kisses my cheek. “Give it a try p>
Across the table, Noah says nothing. He doesn’t move. Just sits there, jaw tight, watching me with an expression I can’t decipher.
I pick up the spoon, dip it into the bowl, and bring it to my lips. One sip, then I swallow. I’m half expecting my stomach to twist in protest, but it doesn’t. I try another sip, bracing myself, but still nothing. My stomach stays calm and steady.
I glance at Aunt Ava, wide–eyed, silently asking what kind of magic she just worked.
She chuckles softly, as if reading my mind. “After four pregnancies, you learn a few tricks. Bland foods are the only way to keep anything down p>
My throat tightens, and I blink hard against the sudden burn in my eyes. She didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me, yet she did. The simple kindness of it knocks the air from my chest, leaving me struggling between gratitude and tears. This is why I love her so much. Her kindness, her selflessness… I could go on, but it would take forever to name every single reason why I love her so much. 1
She pats my shoulder and then takes her seat next to Uncle Rowan. I’m left biting into the bread, so happy that I can now eat something other than just fruits.
Uncle Rowan clears his throat, filling the silence. “I forgot to congratulate you on your pregnancy, Sierra. Looks like I’ll be a grandfather again p>
He wears a broad smile, lips stretched wide with what looks like genuine excitement at the thought of becoming a grandfather again. It should warm me; it should fill me with the same joy, because he really is like a father to me, but instead, it slices through me like a double–edged knife.
Because if only he knew. If only they all knew. They aren’t just going to be the appointed grandparents or aunts- they are. By blood, and not just by bonds and ties. My baby is a part of them.
I want to tell them so badly. But I can’t. I can’t, because Noah doesn’t want this baby. He doesn’t want anyone knowing this is his child.
And so, I sit in silence, while the weight of the lies I’m forced to spread crashes me in ways I can’t even begin to explain.
A chorus of awws and wows ripples around the table, soft laughter mixing with excitement. Everyone seems to glow with happiness. Everyone except Noah. He sits rigid, jaw locked, the muscle ticking like he’s fighting to keep control. His eyes flick toward me, sharp and restless, and I know. He hates this. Hates that his family is genuinely happy for me. And worse, he’s terrified I’ll let the truth slip.