The transplant happens three weeks later.

 

They take me to a private wing of the same clinic and the procedure is quiet and fast. 

I lie on the table with my legs spread and stare up at the ceiling lights. I am nervous the whole time, even though I have done this before. It isn’t painful — merely uncomfortable — but the whole journey ahead leaves me on edge. 

The endocrinologist notices and gives me some words of comfort while he works. And just like that it is over as quickly as it began. He checks a few things and looks at me. 

“It took,” he says. “The pregnancy is confirmed.” 

I already feel it. I know it is impossible at that point but I feel it — something small and new settling and making a nest in my body. I rest my hand on my stomach without thinking. 

I meet the Crosses outside the procedure room. Celeste stands up the moment I step out, coming to hold me and ask how I feel. Her scent is warm and protective, and it makes me feel much at ease. When I tell her I am okay, her eyes literally sparkle. 

Lucien, on the other hand, stands but keeps his distance. When Celeste looks at him with tears brimming her eyes, he gives her an affectionate smile, transforming his face. 

I quickly look away, trying not to act affected. 

They move me the same day. 

A car is waiting outside my apartment so I pack what I need, intending to retrieve the rest in the future. We drive through the busy streets to the heart of the city, then stop in front of a tall, exclusive tower that glimmers like diamonds under the sun. 

A man in a dark suit meets us at the entrance. He introduces himself as Just Ramirez and says he will be my bodyguard. 

I blink at that, but I don’t question it. 

The condo they get me is located on the 38th floor. When the door opens, I just stand there for a second. The place has high ceilings and is already furnished with furniture in soft, neutral colors. The living space has floor-to-ceiling windows that give a view of the city, the kitchen is stocked with food, the bedrooms are bigger than my whole apartment. It even has a home gym in the room that I know I will never use. 

Everything is clean and expensive and… mine. For now. 

Ramirez shows me how the locks work, how to call him, and where the emergency buttons are. 

Then he leaves me alone and closes the door. 

I move through the house again in disbelief. This will be my life, for the next nine months. 

I go to unpack, and my bags look like ants on the large bed. But beneath the excitement is that one pessimistic feeling under my ribs. The one that never lets me enjoy anything for too long. 

I eventually get out, throw on my robe and go to bed. 

That evening the intercom buzzes, pulling me from sleep. Ramirez’s voice comes through. “Mr Cross is here.” 

I get up, walk the wide length of space and open the door for him. Lucien is standing alone in the hallway, dressed in a long coat that makes him look mysterious and enigmatic. His scent drifts around me — not cold, but controlled. 

I feel on edge already. 

“Good evening, Mr Cross.” 

“Good evening, Ms Lily.” He says in that deep timbre of his, stepping inside. He doesn’t move too far though. “Celeste is occupied, so I came to drop this off.” 

He holds out a slim folder. “These are contact numbers, nurse schedules, diet and exercise routines. Emergency protocols too. Everything you need is in here.” 

I take the folder. “Thank you,” I murmur. Then I point backward. “Would you like me to make you some coffee?” 

He shakes his head slowly. Then he studies me for a moment, gaze darting over me. I stare, wondering what caught his attention. 

Then I look down and realize the neckline of my robe is exposed, revealing the smooth swell of my breast. I gulp and turn around fast, adjusting it. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry. I didn’t notice.” 

I squeeze my eyes in utter dread, heart jumping in my throat. It hasn’t even been a full day yet and I am already messing up. 

“It’s okay, Ms Lily,” he says calmly. 

I turn around to look at him again and the urge to hide myself under his probing gaze is beyond overwhelming. Somehow, I resist the urge to. 

He speaks again, and there is nothing in his voice; no accusation or suggestion. “Please take care of yourself, Ms Lily. My wife and I are very busy so we might not always be around to attend to you. But I promise you, once the baby is safely delivered, you won’t have to worry about anything anymore.” 

He assures me. But something in the way he speaks sounds off, like he knows something I don’t. 

I simply nod. “I understand, Sir.” 

He gives me a small smile, eyes warming. It is barely even a look. But just like the hospital, it is enough to send my pulse picking up again, which is something I do not need right now. 

He is handsome. Very, very handsome. And Celeste is beauty personified. I think, distantly, that their child — the one growing in me — will be an absolute heartbreaker. 

I mean how could it not be, with parents who look like them? 

He glances around the condo once, as if checking that everything is in place. Then he says, “The bodyguard is outside. The nurses will come on schedule. If you need anything, use the numbers in the folder.” 

“I will.” 

He gives me a short nod. “Sleep well, Ms Lily.” Then he leaves without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. 

I stand in the middle of the living room, staring at the ghost of his presence, his scent still lingering even in his absence. 

Then I catch where my mind is wandering to, and a chill crawls through me. I rub my arms with my palms, warming them as I look at the window. Then I walk toward it and stare out at the city spread before me, at the stars that light the sky. 

And I think about my Ma, wondering if she is one of the tiny flickers of light in the sky, watching after me. 

— 

The first week passes in a strange, soft silence. The Crosses have been clear from the start. I am not supposed to lift a finger. 

Meals arrive already cooked and still warm. Ramirez checks on me twice a day, asking if I need anything. He is always polite but always brief. 

It makes me sad because I really could use the company. 

The nurses come on schedule, take my blood pressure, ask the same questions, and leave. The home gym stays closed. I never go inside it, though it is a requirement on the file Lucien handed to me. In my defense, they did tell me to take it easy. And that equipment does not look easy. 

I get bored faster than I thought I would. During my last pregnancy I kept working. I kept moving. 

Here, however, every hour feels extra long. The condo is beautiful, but it feels like a pretty box I am not allowed to leave. 

On the fourth day my phone buzzes. It’s Thomas. Again. 

He has been spamming me with texts these past few days, and each one has been read and ignored. Bored as I am, if this privileged life could keep me from that asshole, I would gladly take it for ten lifetimes. 

I tap my inbox. 

Thomas: Where are you? Month-end is coming. 

Me: I know the date asshole. You’ll get your money. Stop contacting me. 

Thomas: where are you? I need to know where you are. Don’t try to run, Sugar Plum. It won’t end well. 

This bastard— 

Me: go fuck yourself, Thomas🖕 

I groan and block the number. He really knows how to get a rise out of me. I slam my phone face-down on the couch and walk away from it. My hands are shaking a little. I really hate that he can still make me feel small. 

A week later, I get my first visit from the Crosses. I hear the key lock beep and the door comes open. 

Celeste steps in first, arms full of bags. Her scent reaches me right away, warm and kind as always. “Evelyn!!!” She squeals, dropping the bags on the floor before spreading her arms to hug me. Her limbs barely close over me and I freeze rigid for a moment, not sure what to do. 

Lucien follows behind her, hands equally full, though unlike his wife, he is quiet and composed, his scent guarded as always. 

“How are you feeling today?” she asks, pulling away. 

“I’m fine. Thank you.” I answer. 

She picks up the bags again and I help out, dropping them neatly on the table. 

“We brought a few things. Soft blankets, some tea that might help with any queasiness, and this little book. Poetry about pregnancy. I thought it might be nice.” 

“Thank you. It’s lovely.” 

We both take a seat on the couch while Lucien takes the chair across the room. His dark eyes move between us without saying much, and as always, I feel the impulsive urge to shrink. I keep my hands folded in my lap, aware of how I look next to Celeste’s slender frame. 

Celeste leans in a little. “May I?” She gestures toward my stomach. 

I blink, startled. It has only been a few weeks. But I nod. 

She rests her hand gently on the rounded front of my shirt. “Hello in there,” she whispers, almost laughing at herself. “We know you’re still tiny. But we wanted to say hello anyway.” 

Lucien asks me then. “Any symptoms yet? Nausea? Fatigue? Anything beyond the usual?” 

“No,” I answer softly. “None, aside from my usual tiredness. I worked without holiday for years. My body’s just not used to being at ease yet.” 

Lucien quietens. If Celeste hears me, she doesn’t show it. She keeps her hand on my tummy a moment longer, then pulls back. “The doctors say everything looks good from the last check. We just like knowing you’re both all right. If you’re tired, take all the rest you need. You’re not alone in this, Evelyn. If you feel lonely or need anything — anything at all — you call us.” 

I nod again. She offers to stay and keep me company a little while longer, but I tell her I am okay. They leave after twenty minutes, Celeste squeezing my hand at the door. Her scent lingers a little after they are gone. 

Once the door shuts, I stand in the living room with my hand on the same empty spot she had touched. This experience so far is… dull. 

I sigh heavily and grab a pillow before moving to the window. It has become something of a safe space for me. I hug my knees and stare out into the city, watching life move forward around me. 

Somehow, I feel like I am the only one left behind.