Then I saw her most recent post, pinned at the top. It was an ultrasound image. She was pregnant.
I dropped my phone, my heart pounding, and frantically searched through the dirty laundry basket in the walk-in closet. The house was quiet. The soldiers outside wouldn't come in unless called. The housekeeper had left at six. I was alone with the silence and the evidence.
I found the shirt Dante had worn the night before. Lifting it to my nose, the unmistakable scent of jasmine hit me.
I never wear perfume.
When I didn't respond to the message, the person on the other end grew impatient. My phone buzzed again and again as photos and videos came flooding in. Clutching my belly, I sank onto the couch, struggling to breathe.
The baby shifted inside me, pressing against my ribs as if trying to get closer to the sound of my heartbeat. I put one hand flat against the place where the movement was strongest and forced myself to look.