Marcello.

I hesitated before opening the message.

Ma chère Jess, it began. Le ciel parisien semble un peu moins lumineux en ton absence.

I frowned, translating the French automatically. The Parisian sky feels a little less bright while you are away.

The message was beautiful, poetic, and... hollow. It felt wrong to read it, like I was betraying Luke by even acknowledging it. I wasn't close to even being remotely ready just to acknowledge that Luke is dead. I was even less ready for whatever Marcello was. I locked the phone without replying and tossed it back onto the bed.

Laura noticed but didn't comment. She simply gave me a knowing look, as if she could read my thoughts and had decided to let it slide-for now.

"Come on," she said, tossing me a loose sweater. "Let's get this over with."

The waiting room was sterile and quiet, the low hum of the air conditioning the only sound as Laura sat beside me, flipping through a magazine she wasn't really reading. I couldn't focus on anything-the words in the magazine, the ticking of the clock. on the wall, nothing. My mind was a whirlpool of questions and fears I wasn't ready to face.

us. I stood up quickly, my legs unsteady, but Laura was there to steady me, her hand resting lightly

as we followed her down the corridor, each step feeling like it led

escape.

a calming shade of pale green. The OB-GYN, a man in his mid-forties, stood by the counter as we entered. His smile was kind, but

stood at my side, her

eyes softening, but there was hesitation in his movements, as if he didn't quite know how to approach me. I could see it-the pity in his gaze, the

hated it. I

silence, firm and protective. "Please. Don't. I just got here, Doc. Please just make sure she's okay, and the baby

she cleared her throat and pressed on. "Please,

my sides, and I had to fight to keep my voice steady when I finally spoke "I-I don't need... anyone's pity," I managed, my throat tight. "I just want to know if... if my

guard by my words,

moved to prepare the equipment, I closed my eyes for

doing this alone-without

could feel it, and I hated it. I hated the way he looked at me, as if I

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