In March of their second year together, Kiara discovered she was pregnant. Rick was overjoyed, overflowing with excitement for their future. Every night, he kissed her forehead and whispered promises to the child growing within her.
But when she looked beyond Rick's happiness, she was reminded of a familiar emptiness. Only her mother had called to congratulate her. There was no warm blessing from her father, no laughter from Maria, no invitation to visit her parents' home. Each time she tried to reach them, her mother made excuses, building walls Kiara could no longer climb.
Though she tried to hide her pain, the distance weighed heavily on her heart. She missed her father's gentle reassurance and Maria's motherly warmth more than words could express. The joy of carrying a child was bittersweet—life blooming inside her, yet a deep ache gnawing within.
As the months passed, Kiara's body began to change in ways she never thought possible. Her senses were heightened, and the smell of morning coffee made her stomach churn. It was all new to her, perhaps because the person who was supposed to explain everything to her, preferred to be her enemy. She vomited often, the taste of bile lingering in her mouth. Some nights, Rick was tender, holding her hair back as she retched into the toilet. . Some nights Rick was tender, soothing her through the sickness. Other times, he grew irritated when he returned home to no food on the table. Still, Kiara told herself this was happiness, or at least the closest she had ever come to it.
But the doubt lingered, a nagging voice in the back of her mind. Was this really enough? Was Rick's love and her child's presence enough to fill the void left by her parents?