The soft glow of the bedside lamp washed over Eliana's room, stretching warm light across the familiar posters and framed memories on her walls. Shadows danced lazily around the edges, turning her once-comforting space into something half-dream, half-ghost. The balcony doors were cracked open just enough for the night air to slip in, carrying the cool whisper of the breeze and the far-off hum of cars drifting down the quiet street.
Eliana lay stretched across her king-sized bed—Henry's stubborn insistence, a gift he claimed she "deserved, no negotiations." The mattress dipped beneath her as if welcoming her home after the chaos of the day. She sank deeper into the plush comforter, her free hand gently resting over the soft curve of her belly. The gesture was instinctive, protective… almost sacred.
