Six months passed.
Ananya's body changed. Softened. Rounded. Her once flat stomach now curved with the quiet proof of life within her.
The first time she felt the baby kick, she was alone in the sunroom. Her hands flew to her belly in shock, then awe, then something deeper — a tremor of connection.
She didn't cry.
But her fingers trembled as they rested there, absorbing that small flutter like it was the first language the child had ever spoken to her.
---
Rael changed, too.
Not in the way people hope monsters do.
But in small ways. In cautious gestures.
He stopped locking her door. Started making her meals again — not as a tactic, but as a ritual.
He read books on prenatal health. He rearranged the master bedroom so she could sleep more comfortably.
He rarely touched her without asking.
Their nights were no longer filled with fire, but with whispered conversations about names, soft lullabies neither of them admitted they knew, and long silences that no longer hurt.
They were still broken. But they weren't bleeding.
---
One morning, as Ananya stood on the back terrace in a flowing lavender dress that barely touched her ankles, Rael came behind her.
She didn't move away.
His hands slid over her stomach, palms warm, steady.
"He moves when you talk," she murmured.
Rael smiled faintly. "He knows who owns the world."
She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch his gaze.
"No one owns the world," she said. "Not even you."
But she didn't pull away from his embrace.
---
The days grew softer.
They painted the nursery together.
White and gold. Stars on the ceiling. Bookshelves lined with stories Ananya had loved as a child. Rael built a cradle with his own hands — the same hands that had once shattered walls.
Every night, they'd sit by the fire. He'd read aloud. She would rest her head on his chest, one hand always on her belly.
And even though no apologies were ever exchanged, something like healing wove itself quietly into the spaces where violence once lived.
---
They attended the sixth-month scan together.
Rael clutched her hand the whole time. His knuckles white.
When the monitor showed the tiny face of their child, Ananya watched him — the fear, the awe, the silence.
Later, in the car, she said, "You were crying."
He denied it.
But his hand never left hers.
---
In the mansion, laughter returned. Sometimes from Rael. More often from Ananya.
She smiled more. She read more. She sang — quietly, under her breath, but it filled the house like sunlight.
Even the staff began smiling again.
No one said it aloud. But something was changing.
And for the first time, it wasn't just survival.
It was hope.
---
One night, as Rael tucked her into bed, Ananya held his hand tightly.
"I never thought I'd want this," she whispered. "But I do now."
"The baby?"
"Everything," she said. "A chance to live… without fear."
Rael leaned down, kissed her forehead.
"I won't let anyone touch you. Ever."
She smiled.
"But what if the one I feared… was you?"
Rael paused.
Then he pulled her close.
"Then I'll spend the rest of my life changing that."
Ananya rested her head on his shoulder.
And for the first time since their story began — in chaos, lust, and violence — they slept without ghosts between them.
---