Sophie’s POV
Two weeks until my due date. I feel like a planet with legs. The hospital elevator is broken. Of course it is.
A handwritten sign taped to the doors announces the inconvenience with a cheerful apology, as if "Sorry for the trouble!" makes up for the fact that I now have to climb three flights of stairs with a bowling ball strapped to my midsection.
Bellamy appears beside me, his expression carefully neutral. Without a word, he offers his arm. I take it, too exhausted to refuse out of pride.
We climb slowly, my hand gripping his forearm, my breath coming harder with each step.
"This is ridiculous," I huff as we reach the first landing. "A hospital. A place specifically designed for people with health problems. And they can't keep an elevator running!"
Bellamy says nothing. Just guides me around the corner to the next flight.
"I mean, what if someone was in a wheelchair? What if someone was having a heart attack?" I pause to catch my breath, one hand pressed to my lower back. "This has to violate some kind of code. Building code. Health code. Basic human decency code."
He waits without complaint, his arm steady under my grip. We start climbing again. By the second floor, I'm panting.
"Whoever designed this building should be forced to climb these stairs at nine months pregnant. In summer. Carrying groceries." I grip the railing with my free hand, hauling myself up another step.
"And then they should have to do it again, just so they really understand the full scope of their failure as an architect."
Bellamy's lips twitch—almost a smile, quickly suppressed.
"And don't even get me started on the maintenance staff. 'Sorry for the trouble.' Sorry for the—" I break off, gasping for air. "A sign. They put up a sign. As if that fixes anything. As if 'sorry' pays for the physical therapy I'm going to need after this."
We reach the third floor. I'm sweating, breathless, and thoroughly irritated with everyone who's ever worked in this building.
Bellamy opens the door to the waiting room, still silent, still patient.
"You could at least pretend to be bothered by this," I mutter as I waddle through.
"I could," he agrees mildly. "But then who would you complain to?"
When we finally reach the third floor, the waiting room is packed. Every head turns as I waddle through the door, and I feel their eyes tracking my massive belly like it's a spectacle.
"What?" I snap at no one in particular. "Never seen a pregnant woman before?"
A few gazes quickly drop. Bellamy steers me toward the check-in desk with a hand on my lower back.
The door to the examination room sticks when I push it. I shove harder, nearly stumbling when it finally gives way. Bellamy catches my elbow before I can faceplant.
"Everything okay?" The nurse looks up from her clipboard, concerned.
"Fine. Perfect. Having the time of my life."
Adrian hasn't been home before midnight in over a week. Something urgent came up, something that couldn’t wait.
I've stopped asking for details because the answers are always the same—vague reassurances that everything is under control, that I shouldn't worry, that he'll be home as soon as he can.
Everything is irritating. Everything is exhausting. My back aches constantly, my ankles have disappeared beneath swelling I pretend not to notice, and I can't remember the last time I slept for more than three hours at a stretch.
Bellamy weathers it all with patience I didn't know he possessed.
He doesn't snap back when I'm sharp with him, doesn't roll his eyes at my complaints, doesn't remind me that I'm being difficult or irrational or any of the things I'm definitely being.
He just stays steady beside me, absorbing my frustration like it's part of his job description. Maybe it is. But somewhere in the past months, it started feeling like something else.
Somewhere in the past months, we stopped hating each other.
The examination goes smoothly. The doctor confirms what I already knew—baby healthy, Sophie healthy, everything progressing exactly as it should. Two more weeks, give or take, and this pregnancy will be over. I'll be holding my child instead of carrying him or her.
The thought terrifies me more than I want to admit.
On the drive home, Bellamy pulls into a parking lot I don't recognize. I'm about to ask what we're doing when I see the sign—a small ice cream shop I mentioned once, weeks ago, in passing.
"What are you doing?"
"Wait here."
He disappears inside before I can argue. When he returns, he's carrying a cup of mint chocolate chip—my favorite flavor. The one I complained about not being able to find anywhere that makes it properly.
He remembered.
"How did you…" I stop, not sure how to finish the question.
"You mentioned it." He shrugs, pulling back onto the road. "Seemed like you could use something good today."
I don't know what to say. So I eat my ice cream in silence, watching the city pass by outside the window, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest.
Back at the apartment, Bellamy helps me settle on the couch. He props pillows behind my aching back without being asked, adjusting them until I nod that they're right. Then he disappears into the kitchen and returns with tea—chamomile, the kind I like, steeped exactly long enough.
"I didn't ask for this," I say, accepting the mug anyway.
"I know."
He sits in the armchair across from me, and we talk. Easy, comfortable conversation that would have been unthinkable weeks ago.
He tells me about Noah's latest obsession—a stuffed rabbit he refuses to sleep without—and I find myself laughing at his description of the tantrum that erupted when the rabbit briefly went missing.
"Twenty minutes," Bellamy says, shaking his head. "Twenty minutes of screaming because the rabbit was under his bed instead of on it. I've negotiated with dangerous men who were more reasonable."
"Children are basically tiny terrorists." I shift on the cushions, trying to find a position that doesn't make my back scream. "They know exactly how to exploit your weaknesses."
"Noah certainly does." Something softens in his expression when he talks about his son. Something human. "He's figured out that if he says 'please' and looks at me with those eyes, I'll give him almost anything."
"Sounds like someone else I know."
"Adrian doesn't say please."
I laugh—a real laugh, the kind that's been rare lately. "No, he definitely doesn't."
A comfortable silence settles between us. I reach for the blanket draped over the far cushion, but my belly makes the stretch impossible. My fingers brush the fabric without gaining purchase.
Bellamy leans across me to grab it. When he turns back, our faces are inches apart. Neither of us moves.
I see his eyes up close for the first time—really see them. The flecks of gold I never noticed, the depth of something unreadable swirling beneath the surface. His breath ghosts across my cheek. I can smell his cologne, something woodsy and warm that I've grown used to without realizing it.
My breath catches.
His eyes drop to my lips. Just for a second—a fraction of a heartbeat—before returning to meet my gaze.
The air between us thickens into something neither of us expected. Something dangerous. Something that shouldn't exist but suddenly, undeniably does.
The front door opens and we spring apart like we've been burned.
Bellamy is back in his chair before the door fully swings wide, and I'm clutching the blanket like it's a shield, my heart slamming against my ribs.
By the time Adrian walks in, loosening his tie, there's nothing to see. Nothing to notice. Nothing but two people sitting in a living room, acting perfectly normal.
"How was the appointment?" Adrian crosses to the couch, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Everything okay with the baby?"
"Fine." My voice sounds strange to my own ears—too bright, too forced. "Healthy. On track. Two more weeks."
"Good." He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He looks exhausted—dark circles beneath his eyes, tension in his shoulders. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there. The meetings ran longer than expected."
"It's okay. Bellamy took care of everything."
The words hang in the air. I don't look at Bellamy. Can't look at him.
Adrian extends his hand to me. "Come to bed. You need rest."
I take his hand. Let him help me off the couch, let him guide me toward the bedroom with a palm pressed to my lower back.
I don't look at Bellamy as I leave.
But I feel his eyes on me until the door closes behind us.