The first sign was subtle.


Elara noticed it while brushing her teeth—a wave of nausea that passed quickly but left her pausing, staring at her reflection. Her first thought wasn’t hope. It was caution. She had felt phantom symptoms before.


But this was different.


She didn’t mention it to Michael.



---


The next sign came two days later. She was sitting at the piano, working on a new piece for a children's theater showcase. It was light and whimsical—charming in a way she hadn’t written before.


As her fingers danced across the keys, something shifted in her chest. The melody, unplanned and spontaneous, felt maternal. Full of wonder. Full of life.


Tears welled in her eyes before she knew why.


She set her hands in her lap and whispered to the empty room, “Are you there?”



---


That night, she sat with the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter.


Five minutes had never moved slower in her life.


When the timer buzzed, Elara stood, walked over, and looked.


Two lines.


Faint. But there.



---


She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She just stood in the silence, holding the result in her hands, feeling the weight of everything and nothing at once.


Michael found her like that moments later.


“Elara?”


She turned. Held up the test.


And then it hit her—like the final note of a long crescendo. She was going to be a mother.


Michael stared for a moment, then broke into a grin that made her laugh through the tears now falling fast.


“Really?” he asked, voice cracking.


She nodded. “Yes. I think... I think it’s happening.”


He wrapped her in his arms, lifting her slightly off the ground, as they stood in the middle of the quiet apartment. Just them. And now, not just them.



---


Later, she opened her journal for the first time in a week.


"Dear little one—

You are no longer just a dream.

You are growing inside me.

I am scared, still.

But I’m ready."