Days flutter by in the countryside of Ziriri, startlingly swift.
A chilly breeze lingers into the evening, as the third week of February nears its close.
The sun dips westward, swirling down the horizon, painting the twilight sky in hues of violet, orange, and red. In the little town of Elrena, a married lovers stroll hand in hand, delighting in the lively market of farmers.
Wednesdays and Saturdays, the farmers adorn the town with booths, tables, and stalls—borrowing the earth to showcase their offerings. Gleaming flowers greet visitors first: winter heather, roses, primrose, cornflower, violas, centaurea, gypsophila, and nigella in full bloom.
Then come the fruits of the season—raspberries, oranges, kiwis, grapefruits, apples, pears, and more.
Housewares and home décor follow: mirrors, candles, lanterns, rugs, vases, art.
Jewelry, clothing—shirts, pants, dresses, skirts—and toys for children. The market bursts with vibrant, homely beauty.
Vendors and visitors alike wander in quiet purpose, some pretending they have none.
Hours drift by. Neva finishes a little shopping of her own. In Rhett's arms swing several heavy grocery bags, flower pots wrapped in polythene, seeds and a few other leafy purchases—plants Neva intends to plant in the yard of their cottage.
She carries the last of them—blue cornflowers and baby's-breath—gently in a see-through bag.
"Are you cold?" Rhett asks, noticing her subtle shiver.
She shakes her head.
Her gaze drifts ahead, toward a bakery store. He follows her eyes.
"You want some bread?" he asks.
"I want cream buns," Neva replies, thoughtful.
He nods. "Anything else?"
His eyes flick to the glowing screen of his phone.
"The cab's five minutes out."
"No," she says, her voice distant. "But make it four cream buns."
"Alright. The cab's coming. Wait for me by the café. I'll be right back."
He leans in and kisses her cheek. With a smile, he jogs off to the bakery—leaving Neva smiling, blushing.
But once he disappears into the beige walls of the store, her lips falter.
She walks east, toward the dimming moon and darkening sky.
Her silver-pink dress of lace and satin ripples with her hair in the wintry breeze.
A thick, knitted cardigan shields her from the cold.
Yet her nerves burn hotter than the frost. She walks briskly toward the Pharmacy just opposite the café.
The cashier greets her. Neva returns a polite smile, though it never touches her eyes.
Behind the glass racks, her eyes flit between shelves. She swallows hard, biting her cherry-tinted lip.
Her fingers close around two blue rectangular packages.
As she steps out, she sees Rhett across the street in front of the café, scanning around, his phone pressed to his ear.
She quickly reaches into her purse—her phone is on mute. Three missed calls.
Guilt grips her. She hurries toward him.
Rhett spots her. His eyes lock onto her, concern deepening into clenched-jaw frustration.
"Where were you?" he asks, his voice edged with fear-turned-anger.
"Just… across the street," she murmurs.
His eyes flick to the Pharmacy sign behind her. A frown etches deep across his forehead as he scans her from head to toe.
She shifts awkwardly, hoping he won't notice how tense she is.
"Are you sick?" he asks, voice softening as he reaches to touch her neck.
She recoils, brushing his hand away—a harsh reflex. He flinches, hurt.
Their eyes meet. Hers shimmer with guilt.
"I'm fine," she whispers, looking down.
He exhales, resigned. Her moods can strike him in such confusing ways.
He takes her hand gently.
"I was just worried. Let's go. The cab must be here."
⑅ ⑅ ⑅
Night descends. The moon hangs cold and distant above the star-lit sky.
In the soft glow of their cottage, Neva stands alone in the quiet room before a full-length Victorian mirror.
Her breaths come fast. Palms slick with sweat.
She stares at the reflection of her fragile form, clad in a white cotton dress flowing to her ankles.
Curls cascade down her back. Her wide, glittering eyes burn—not with joy, but fear.
In her clenched fist, she holds two pregnancy sticks—two red slashes, bright, undeniable.
Her lips quiver. A sob threatens her throat.
Then the door creaks.
Rhett walks in, wearing a carefree grin. She panics, hands hiding the tests by her sides.
He strides in behind her, arms wrapping around her waist. He pulls her close, chest to back.
"Dishes are done," he whispers in a husky voice, brushing his lips against her ear.
She stiffens. Her breath hitches. Her heart races violently—because within her womb, a new life has begun… and her husband adhered to her, knows not what trembles behind her fearful eyes.
His lips move to her neck. He draws love marks on her skin with kisses.
His hand finds her breast, kneading tenderly.
A whimper slips from her parted lips.
She wriggles in his arms, desperate to escape.
He takes her touch for desire—but she trembles with dread.
"No…" she breathes, barely audible.
She twists around to face him.
Rhett blinks, confused by her tear-filled eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asks softly. Something's been off all day.
His gaze drops to her clenched hands. His brows knit.
"What are you hiding?" he asks.
Before she can run, he grabs her wrist.
She fights to break free—but he's stronger. He wrests the objects from her grip.
Two pregnancy kits. Two red lines. Positive.
Neva gasps, watching his eyes widen in shock.
Her lips part, but no words come. Tears glaze her cheeks. She turns away, stepping toward the door.
"Where are you going, Angel?" he calls, voice taut with fear.
She doesn't answer. She can hear not his anxious voice, for her mind is shunned and her heart numbed.
Her body moves like a ghost as she reaches the front door and opens it.
The wind cuts across her bare arms. She still steps out, flinching, cold and trembling.
He rushes after her, furious and frightened. Dragging her back into the warmth of the cottage, he snaps—
"Do you want to get sick? You're pregnant!"
And instantly regrets it.
Her sobs burst free, brittle and weary.
His arms wrap around her. She collapses into his chest, soaking his shirt with tears.
"Shh… It's okay," he whispers, kissing the top of her head.
She hiccups, burying herself into him.
Later, they lie beneath the duvet. Warm. Still. Her head rests on his chest.
He strokes her hair gently, voice tender.
He's going to be a father... And his heart warms up like daylight.
But when he looks down, her eyes are vacant—lost.
His heart aches. An arrow straight to the chest. He softly kisses her brow.
"We'll have the baby… right, Angel?" Rhett asks.
His voice strains with hope. Thorns wrap in his throat as Neva lifts her gaze and threads with his.
But his heart drops as he sees sorrow threaded in every fragile shimmer in her eyes.