Elara had expected morning sickness.


What she hadn’t expected was how completely pregnancy would take over her body.


Some days, she floated—light with wonder. Other days, she lay curled on the bathroom floor, too nauseous to speak, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. Michael would sit with her, gently brushing her hair back, whispering the same phrase:


“You don’t have to be strong today. Just be here.”



---


She began writing again—not for performances or audiences, but for herself. Soft lullabies. Humble, imperfect songs about waiting, about growing, about carrying something you can’t see but already love.


She stopped reading articles, stopped searching forums. Instead, she listened—to her body, to the small pulse of life within her, to the quiet encouragement in Michael’s eyes.



---


At the first appointment, they heard the heartbeat.


It was fast, like a hummingbird’s wings, and for a moment Elara couldn’t breathe. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she reached for Michael’s hand.


“I didn’t think it would feel this real,” she whispered.


The doctor smiled. “It’s real now. You’re officially becoming, Elara.”



---


Back home, Marcus called. She told him everything—how it had happened, how she felt, how terrified and in awe she was.


He didn’t say much at first.


Then: “You’ve already given that child the greatest gift.”


“What’s that?” she asked.


“A mother who stayed.”



---


That night, Elara lit a single candle by her window and opened her journal.


"Dear little one—

I heard your heartbeat today.

I think it was the first time

I truly believed in miracles.

You are teaching me how to be.

And I will become, with you."