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Chapter 72 – Damon's POV
"What I Never Saw"
She didn't have to say anything — I could see it in her eyes.
Arya was exhausted.
And not the usual kind of tired that came from a long day or a sleepless night. This was bone-deep, relentless fatigue. The kind that hollowed you out from the inside and left shadows under your eyes, trembling in your hands, and silence where there should have been smiles.
She hadn't eaten much all day. Not because she didn't want to — but because nothing stayed down long enough. I'd made her toast. Scrambled eggs. Even that odd craving she'd mentioned in passing: fries dipped in mango sauce. She barely touched any of it.
Now, she was curled up in bed, the lights off, a cool cloth on her forehead. Her back was arched slightly, trying to relieve the ache that she hadn't stopped complaining about for days. One hand rested on her belly. The other was clenched in the sheets.
I stood quietly at the doorway, just watching her breathe.
And all I could think was:
Did she suffer like this… all alone with Liam?
The thought made my chest tighten.
---
Back then, I wasn't there.
I missed everything.
The cravings. The late-night nausea. The silent tears. The doubt. The quiet strength she must've drawn from when I offered nothing at all.
And now, seeing her like this — pale, sick, fighting to stay strong — it crushed me.
Because I finally understood what I missed.
And what she carried without me.
---
She stirred under the blanket, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are you just going to stand there all night?"
I stepped inside, guilt heavy in my steps. "Didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't," she murmured, turning her head toward me. Her face was damp from sweat. "I couldn't sleep."
I sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand. She let me take it.
"Is the nausea worse tonight?"
She nodded, closing her eyes. "Everything hurts. I can't breathe properly when I lie flat. My back is killing me. And the dreams… they're insane."
I gently rubbed the top of her hand with my thumb. "Anything I can do?"
She didn't answer for a moment.
Then, quietly, "Just stay."
So I did.
I pulled off my shoes, crawled into bed beside her, and wrapped an arm carefully around her shoulders, pulling her against me like she might break. I could feel how fragile she was — not weak, no. Arya was never weak. But her body was stretched thin. And my heart broke knowing I couldn't take any of it away.
I held her in silence, listening to her breaths, the occasional shift of her leg, the soft hum of the ceiling fan.
And I thought again of Liam.
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How many nights had she curled up like this, in pain and fear, while I was out pretending everything was fine? How many times had she cried into her pillow, wishing I would come home early or hold her hand or rub her back?
I'd failed her then.
And though she never said it out loud — never threw it in my face, never used Liam as a weapon — I knew the truth.
That I'd abandoned her when she needed me most.
And now, this second chance — this baby — it wasn't just new life.
It was redemption.
My chance to make it right.
---
She shifted again, letting out a soft groan. "I hate this part."
"I know," I whispered, brushing her hair back. "You're doing amazing."
She huffed a humorless laugh. "Tell that to my bladder. I've peed six times today and cried four."
"You're strong," I said softly. "You've always been."
Her voice cracked. "Even when I didn't want to be."
That did it.
I pressed a kiss to her temple and closed my eyes.
"I wish I had been there," I admitted. "With Liam. I wish I had seen what you were going through. I wish I hadn't been such a coward."
Arya didn't respond right away.
Then she whispered, "You weren't ready."
"That's not an excuse."
"No," she agreed. "But it's the truth."
Silence.
Then she turned slightly to look at me, her eyes shining even in the dark.
"You're here now. That's what matters to me."
I swallowed hard. "I won't miss another moment, Arya. Not one. Not of this baby's life. Not of yours."
She smiled faintly. "Good. Because next week I'll probably be craving pickled onions at 3am."
I chuckled and kissed her again.
"Then I'll be the one running to get them."
---
As she drifted off, her breath finally evening out, I lay awake, still holding her hand.
This pregnancy was harder than the last — I could see it. The fatigue. The symptoms. The emotional weight.
But this time… she wasn't carrying it alone.
Not anymore.
And I swore — no matter what the months ahead brought — I'd carry her through every second of it.