'Why is he smiling?'
Florian thought, his chest tightening as he watched the original Florian cradle his tiny bump with one trembling hand.
It was barely visible, a subtle curve beneath his palm, so faint it could have been overlooked. But Florian's eyes caught it instantly.
It was real.
His gaze shifted to the mirror, to the two of them reflected side by side. The original Florian looked so fragile there—his frame slim, shoulders hunched as if carrying a weight far heavier than the small swell beneath his hand.
Florian narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to make sense of it. 'Why smile if it hurts this much?'
"Something's wrong with me," the original whispered, his voice nearly lost in the quiet. Florian leaned forward instinctively, wondering—was he speaking to himself, or…?
"I don't think I can give you a good life."
Ah.
So he wasn't talking to himself at all. He was talking to the child inside him.
