⊰ 14 ⊱ The Variable of My Existence

It’s been a week since the four plastic sticks confirmed that I’m pregnant, a week since my world changed. A week since Marcel and I stood on the edge of this new life, the reality of our future pressing down on us, challenging us.

And in that week, I’ve hardly seen him at all.

He’s been around, fitting in and out of the house at odd hours, always with his phone pressed to his ear or his head buried in paperwork. But he hasn’t been present, not in the way I need him to be. Not in the way I crave with every fiber of my being.

I tell myself it’s just the stress of stepping in his father’s place as head of the family empire, but there’s a small, insidious voice in the back of my mind that whispers a different story—a different story that twists a knot in my stomach.

Maybe he’s been avoiding me.

The thought tugs at my heart, and with it goes my appetite. I push my dinner around my plate, suddenly growing nauseous. Next to me