---
The quiet in the apartment had changed.
Not louder. Not unsettling.
But fuller.
Elena noticed it when she turned pages of the pregnancy guidebook she'd borrowed from the clinic. The room didn't feel empty anymore. Not even when the windows were open and the street noise faded into background hum.
Someone had filled the silence with something else.
A presence.
She ran her hand over the pages, pausing at the section titled: "Second Trimester Changes."
Her breath hitched.
Visible bump appears. You may start feeling fluttering movements. Hormonal shifts can cause increased emotion.
She pressed her palm against her stomach.
Still flat. Still quiet.
But not for long.
The thought both comforted and terrified her.
She glanced at the sonogram in the frame again.
A girl.
She hadn't told anyone.
Only him.
Only Luca.
He hadn't written back, not after the typed question: "If it's a girl, will you still name her Aria?"
But she'd answered out loud that night, curled up under her blanket, whispering to the darkness.
"Yes. I would."
And somewhere beyond the walls, she'd felt something shift.
---
The following morning, she found food on her doorstep.
Not store-bought. Not delivered.
Cooked.
Warm.
Wrapped in a linen cloth with a pressed silver fork resting on top.
She knew that smell.
Luca's cooking.
She didn't even hesitate to take it inside.
She ate on the kitchen floor, back against the counter, barely tasting the first few bites. Then, as warmth spread through her chest, she realized she was crying again.
But this time, it was because he still cared.
He was near.
Still watching.
Still feeding her, protecting her… without a word.
She held her stomach gently and whispered, "He's watching us, baby."
---
Luca sat in the hallway across from her apartment door.
Long after she'd taken the meal inside.
He didn't need thanks.
He just needed her to eat.
Needed to know she was okay.
Needed to see her live.
He closed his eyes, fingers tapping lightly against his thigh as he listened to the soft sound of her voice through the thin walls. She spoke sometimes when she thought no one was listening. Murmurs. Questions. Words for the baby.
Words for him.
And even though he never replied, every syllable carved deeper into his chest.
He didn't deserve her.
But he'd protect her until his last breath.
---
That afternoon, she went out shopping again.
Just small things—a bigger bra, some leggings, a tiny cream bottle for stretch marks. Her movements were careful now. Protective. Her hand hovered near her stomach even though it wasn't rounded yet.
Luca followed from a distance.
Not too close.
But enough.
He watched her pause at a baby mobile near the shop window. Her eyes softened. She stepped inside.
He waited across the street, nearly holding his breath.
She emerged minutes later holding a small stuffed rabbit.
Soft grey, with floppy ears.
She cradled it in her arms all the way home like it was made of glass.
He smiled faintly.
She was already a mother.
---
That night, she placed the rabbit on her pillow beside her. Then she did something she hadn't done in weeks.
She opened her laptop.
And typed his name into the search bar.
"Luca Romano."
She didn't expect results.
But they came.
Old wrestling records. Charity appearances. An archived article from two years ago about a street fight ring he'd allegedly dismantled single-handedly.
Then… nothing.
A full blackout after that.
As if he'd vanished.
She stared at the screen, heart aching.
Why did he stop fighting?
Why did he disappear?
Why did he find her?
She shut the laptop quietly and turned off the lights, curling around the soft bunny with one hand resting on her stomach.
"Goodnight, Luca."
---
He heard it.
Through the window—slightly ajar.
She didn't know.
But he'd left it that way last week when she forgot to lock it.
Just a crack.
Enough for sound.
Not enough to step through.
Yet.
He stood outside, hidden behind the dense shadow of the large tree across the street. The moonlight caught her silhouette again, curled in bed, smaller than he remembered.
He clenched his fists.
He wanted to be inside.
Wanted to sit beside her. Kiss her forehead. Whisper that she would never be alone again.
But words were dangerous in his mouth.
So instead, he left her another note before dawn.
---
It was waiting when she woke.
This time, placed gently on her bathroom mirror.
She froze when she saw it—because she hadn't left the window open.
The paper was soft, folded neatly.
Typed.
No signature.
> Your body is not just yours now. Let me care for both of you. I know I'm not allowed in—but I'll never stop watching over you.
Her chest tightened.
He had been inside.
But she wasn't afraid.
Not anymore.
She touched the note with trembling fingers and whispered, "I'm scared without you."
Then, she left the bathroom light on all day.
Like an invitation.
---