Whitney’s absence left a shadow over everything. I knew I should have been happy — there were two lives growing inside me, and joy should have come naturally. But grief doesn’t ask permission, and mine had settled in like it intended to stay.

I followed the nutritionist’s plan without missing a meal. The morning sickness had passed. On the outside, everything looked fine. But every time I woke up, something felt hollowed out, like a piece of me hadn’t made it back from the cliff that day. I’d lost interest in almost everything, and I was sleeping more than I should have been. I couldn’t name what was wrong with me. I just knew something was.

I stopped going out. I stayed home, kept to myself, and let the days blur together. Lewis was getting busier, but I could tell he was carving out every spare hour to be with me. I didn’t want to be another thing he had to worry about, so I smiled and started conversations and tried to seem like I was holding together. He would stroke my hair and look at me with so much warmth, and I could see something behind his eyes — concern he was choosing not to voice. He was still gentle, still loving, still present. But he never brought up Whitney. That silence sat in my chest like a stone no one else could move.

The news came through eventually — Whitney and Vito’s work had led to the dismantling of several criminal networks, innocent people rescued, criminals convicted. Every stronghold in Snowville had been shut down. It should have meant something to me. It didn’t. I sat with the information and felt nothing. What did any of it matter? When I had needed saving, no one had come. Whitney was gone. My family had splintered apart. This world had taken everything and kept moving.

One evening, knowing how exhausted Lewis was, I cut some fruit and carried it to his study. The door was already open. He was at his desk, phone to his ear, his voice low and strained. I thought it might be news about Whitney, so I stayed in the doorway and listened.

“Yes, her condition has worsened.” A pause. “She’s sleeping too much, no interest in anything. The memory gaps are getting worse. Just tonight, she brought me fruit three times.”

The plate slipped from my hands.

It shattered on the floor, fruit scattering everywhere. Lewis heard it immediately and came to me. “Elena, are you hurt?”

“No. My hands just slipped.” I looked at him, and I could feel the confusion on my own face. “Carl — am I sick?”

“You’re not—”

“I heard what you said. You said my condition is serious.” I held his gaze. “What’s wrong with me?”

He was quiet for a moment, then he told me plainly. “It’s depression, Elena. The hormonal changes, the pregnancy, losing Whitney, everything that’s been building — it’s affected your body and your mind both. This happens. It doesn’t mean something is permanently broken.”

I looked down at the scattered fruit. “So I really did bring you fruit three times tonight?”

He nodded.

I had no memory of any of it.

“How long has this been going on?”

“It started after the cliff. In the beginning it wasn’t as noticeable. About half a month ago, one of the staff mentioned you were doing things that seemed off — repeating questions within the same breath, like the first time you’d asked had already slipped away. That’s when I consulted someone.” He hesitated. “You’re still pregnant, so medication isn’t straightforward, but—”

“But what?”

His voice stayed even, but I saw the effort it cost him. “In more advanced stages, there’s a risk of self-harm. Or harm to the baby.”

Harm the baby.

I shook my head. “Lewis, that’s not possible. I want these babies more than anything. I would never—” I stopped myself, reaching for something lighter. “Carl, we find out the gender in two weeks, right?”

His expression shifted. I caught it immediately. “Did I have an episode just now? Did I say something wrong?”

“Two weeks ago, we already found out.” His voice was careful and soft. “Do you remember?”

I stared at him. “The baby is…”

“A boy and a girl.”

Something in my throat closed up. I managed a small smile. “That’s wonderful. I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I didn’t mean to—”

Lewis pulled me into his arms and held me there, one hand moving slowly over the back of my head. “Elena, it’s okay. Everyone gets sick. This isn’t the end of anything. You’re going to be fine.”

“I’ll be fine,” I repeated. “I know I will.”

But even as I said it, the tears came. He wiped them away without a word.

“Carl, how could I forget something like that? How big they are, what they are — how could that just leave me?”

“You haven’t forgotten,” he said gently. “These past weeks, you’ve been drowning in grief. You built walls around yourself to keep the pain out, and those same walls started keeping everything else out too. Your mind is trying to protect you. That’s all this is.”

I felt the anxiety tighten in my chest. “I haven’t forgotten you, have I?”

He looked at me steadily. “Do you want to forget me?”

“We’re bonded,” I said. “Across more than one lifetime. I could never forget you. That’s not something that fades.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

He said it quietly, and I didn’t have an answer.

“Focus on the babies,” he said. “Nothing else. As you get further along, we’ll bring in more help. And once they’re here, if you’re still feeling this way, we’ll get you proper treatment. One thing at a time.”

“Okay.”

“No pressure. Just rest.”

I nodded and let him guide me back to bed. “I’ll stay home. I won’t go anywhere. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden.” He tucked the blanket around me like it was something that mattered to get right.

I lay against him and breathed him in — that deep, grounding scent that my instincts had always recognised before my mind caught up. It steadied something in me that words couldn’t reach. “Carl, what about the organisation? Where does everything stand?”

“We’re tracking the Emerald Dragon faction. They scattered when we moved on their stronghold, but it’s only a matter of time.”

I exhaled slowly. So many people had died because of them. “They’re still alive?”

“Yes. Over the years they used things they shouldn’t have — experimental substances, procedures done in the dark, things that changed their appearance enough to slip through. That’s how they got out when we hit them. But they won’t stay hidden.

“When did you move on them?”

“Recently. We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want you worrying. For now, just stay home. I’m arranging for a therapist to come here in the next few days.”

“I’ll do whatever they say. For the babies.”

Lewis rubbed slow circles on my back. “Sleep now. Goodnight.”

I drifted off faster than I expected. But just before I went under, I thought I heard a soft exhale — barely there, like something quietly released.

I wasn’t sure if it was him.