Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Serafina laid on her back, one hand resting on her stomach, her breathing deep and even. The moonlight caught the curve of her cheek, the soft swell of her lips, and something in my chest tightened painfully.
I had stayed away these past two weeks, respecting her need for space, her need to process what I’ve done. But tonight, the void inside me has grown too large to ignore.
The loneliness was too crushing to bear.
I approached the bed slowly, not wanting to wake her.
I needed this moment, needed to be close to her even if she would never know.
I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her. Her breathing remains steady, deep with sleep. I reached out, my fingers hovering over her cheek before I allowed myself to touch her.
Thud.
Her skin was soft beneath my fingertips, warm and alive.
My heart ricocheted in my chest.
I traced the delicate curve of her jaw, the fullness of her lips, committing every detail to memory, memorizing her features in the darkness.
Thud. Thud.
She was so goddamn beautiful, it fucking hurt.
In her sleep, her guard was down. In her sleep, she couldn’t hate me.
I gently pushed the covers aside, revealing the slight swell of her stomach. It was barely noticeable yet over her nightgown, but I knew it was there. I had been watching, cataloging the changes in her body, the way her breasts had grown fuller, her hips wider, the subtle curve that wasn’t there before.
I leaned down, bringing my face closer to her belly. The scent of her fills my lungs, vanilla and something uniquely Serafina. My heart clenched painfully in my chest.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
My hand hovered over the slight swell, afraid to touch but desperate to connect.
“Hello, little one,” I murmured, my voice rough with emotion. “I’m your father.”
The words feel strange on my tongue. Father.
I had been called many things in my life. Monster, beast, killer…The Reaper.
But I never had the chance to be a father.
I hadn’t been worthy.
“You’re about the size of a grape now, did you know that?” I whispered, talking to our baby for the first time. “Growing stronger every day.”
My throat tightened as I thought of the life growing inside her. My child. Our child.
The one thing that bounded us together irrevocably.
“Go easy on your mommy,” I continued. “I’ve heard she’s been sick all morning.”
The gynecologist came this morning. I knew because I was the one who called her and had watched from my office window as the woman walked into my home to examine my wife.
I should have been there. I should have held Serafina’s hand, listened to the heartbeat of our baby, shared in that moment. But I wasn’t invited.
I hadn’t been welcomed.
I wasn’t worthy.
And I hadn’t wanted to cause my wife any more distress by forcing my presence on her.
The gynecologist had said that Serafina was nine weeks along. The baby was healthy. She was progressing well.
Nine weeks.
The night I had claimed her as mine.
The night I had taken her virginity, the same night I had planted my seed.
We made a baby the night I made her mine.
In all ways.
Irrevocably.
Tied to me in every way. Soul, body, heart.
I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead against her stomach. The guilt was a physical weight, crushing me from the inside out.
I had taken something precious and turned it into a weapon.
I had used our child as a means to an end.
And I had ruined Serafina’s trust in ways I couldn’t fix.
“I’m sorry,” I choked, the words inadequate, insufficient.
I felt her stir beneath me and looked up to find her watching me in the darkness.
How long had she been awake?
Her gaze was devoid of any warmth, any of the fire that had once burned so brightly when she looked at me.
“I can’t forgive you,” she said, her voice flat, emotionless.
I nodded, swallowing against the lump in my throat, as I accepted her words. Knowing that what I had done was unforgivable.
Her hand moved to her stomach, cupping the slight bump protectively. “The doctor says the baby is about one inch long and weighs about 10 grams,” she said, her voice softening slightly as she spoke of our child.
I remained silent, giving her the space to speak. To share what I hadn’t been privileged enough to witness.
“I heard his heartbeat,” she whispered, and the emotion in her voice cut through me like a knife. “He was so small, so tiny.”
I nodded, emotions clogging my throat.
I placed my hand over hers, feeling the warmth of her skin, the small curve of our child beneath our joined palms. For a moment, she didn’t pull away.
“He?” I asked, my voice rough.
She shrugged, a small movement in the darkness. “I don’t know yet. But it feels like a he to me.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy with all the things we couldn’t say.