The morning sun filtered softly through the cream curtains, casting a golden hue over the quiet apartment. Bella stirred first, her hand instinctively pressing against her belly. Fourteen weeks, and some days felt heavier than others — today was one of them. A dull ache pulsed in her lower back, and a strange metallic taste clung stubbornly to her tongue.
From the other room, the cheerful chirp of a child's voice rang out.
"Dada! I can't find my socks!"
Lucas's groggy voice responded from the hallway, "Left drawer, baby. The pink ones with the stars."
Bella smiled faintly. Their mornings had taken on this gentle rhythm lately — sleepy yawns, half-dressed chaos, and Lucas somehow managing it all before his first espresso.
By the time Rachel was dressed and bouncing with her little backpack, Bella was seated at the kitchen table, nibbling a slice of dry toast. Her nausea had returned, subtle but annoying, and her mood was already more fragile than usual. She didn't complain though. She knew it would pass. Still, when Lucas kissed her temple and offered to make her something else, she waved him off with a smile.
"I'm fine," she lied softly.
After dropping Rachel off at school, Lucas returned only briefly — freshening up, grabbing his coat and tablet. Before leaving, he paused by the table where Bella sat, absently sketching something in a small, worn notebook.
"Any plans today?" he asked, eyes scanning her face.
She hesitated. "No… just resting. Maybe doing a bit of cleaning."
His gaze lingered. "You sure you're okay?"
She looked up, hesitating — and for a moment, the mask slipped. Her eyes flickered with disappointment, with quiet defeat.
Lucas knelt beside her chair, his hand brushing against her forearm. "Did something happen?"
Bella exhaled slowly, setting down her pencil. "I got another rejection email. The fourth one this month. They won't say it outright, but I know it's because I'm pregnant. Or married. Or both." She gave a bitter smile. "Who would hire someone like me right now?"
Lucas's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond immediately. He simply watched her, letting her words settle.
Then he asked gently, "What did you major in, Bella?"
She blinked, surprised by the shift. "Jewelry design."
"Why that? I mean—you're talented, no doubt—but why jewelry? Not architecture or fashion or something more… mainstream?"
"Do you want to know?" She asked, her big doe eyes sparkled as she waited for his answer. He smiled realising her excitement wasn't random, it was yet another clue to what made her happy. He quickly nodded but a quick blow came within seconds.
'Did she just pushed me out of her way?' He scoffed in disbelief. But before he can scold her in his thoughts for being so careless, not because she pushed him but because she ran off to their bedroom like she wasn't pregnant, he found her coming back with a beautiful smile on her face. 'Really! What's the value of my anger....five seconds?' He realised he could never stay mad at her— not when she looked at him like that.
She stand in front of him with an innocent smile, both hands tucked behind her back. "Give me your hand." She said holding one hand out to him. He confusedly took it, only to earn an eye roll from his wife. 'Pregnancy really made her sassy' he thought.
He unclasp their hands and held out his hand waiting for her to give whatever she wanted to. She took out something from behind her, still clenched in a fist and placed it in his palm. Lucas looked down at the delicate butterfly pendant resting in his hand.
"This," she said softly, "was my fifth birthday gift from my mother. I was too young to remember the day clearly. But Gabrielle told me years later that it wasn't just a gift. It was the first piece my mother ever designed."
'Why does she never wears it?' he thought as he traced the edges with his fingers. The wings were fragile, worn with time, yet there was something timeless about the craftsmanship. It shimmered faintly in the morning light — not just a pendant, but a story.
"I used to hold it when I missed her," Bella continued, her voice distant. "I'd trace the edges and imagine her hands designing it. I guess I wanted to feel close to her. And somehow, creating something with my hands… it just made sense."
Lucas's voice was quiet. "You've been chasing that feeling ever since."
She nodded.
He returned the pendant to her, folding her fingers over it. "Bella, I might know someone who'd love to meet you."
Bella tilted her head. "Who?"
"An old friend. He owns one of Italy's luxury jewelry brands. They do limited collections—artistic, handmade, intricate. The kind of place that appreciates skill over résumé."
She stiffened slightly. "Lucas…"
"I won't interfere, Bella. I won't tell him to hire you because you're my wife. I'll just introduce you. The rest will be based on your talent. You've got that in abundance."
She bit her lower lip, torn between gratitude and pride. "I just… don't want to be handed something. I want to earn it."
"I know," he said, brushing her hair behind her ear. "You will. This would only be a door. You'll be the one to walk through it."
There was a long pause. Then finally, she nodded. "Alright. If it's really just a door… I'll walk through it."
He smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before heading toward the door. "Good. I'll send him your portfolio tonight. Rest up. Don't overwork."
"Thanks," she said softly, watching him go.
Once alone, Bella sat back, eyes wandering to the sunlight bouncing off her pendant. For the first time in days, something stirred in her again — not just exhaustion or hormones or doubt — but the delicate wings of hope.
Outside, the day stretched on. And though her back still ached and the nausea lingered, her hands returned to the sketchbook with a steadier rhythm.
A butterfly in flight. A memory reborn.