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Chapter 151 – Ethan POV
Something's… Different
I stared at the empty plate across the table and blinked.
"She finished it all?" I whispered under my breath.
Not that I was surprised. Over the last week, Amara had been eating like we were preparing for a famine. Not just regular meals—no, these were full-on, three-course, flavor-packed, appetite-destroying meals. And the woman wasn't slowing down.
Just yesterday, she'd gone through two meat pies, a large bowl of lasagna and pasta with fruit salad , and an entire slice of velvet cake—and then had the audacity to say she was still hungry.
Now, I wasn't judging. If anything, I was impressed. But it was also strange.
Very strange.
Especially considering how the mornings usually started—with her clinging to the sink, pale and queasy, claiming she'd been poisoned by leftover rice.
I washed her plate and set it aside, still thinking.
"Maybe it's hormones," I muttered. "Or stress. Or that thing that happens when you get too comfortable in marriage and let go of all your food discipline."
Still, I couldn't shake the concern.
Amara wasn't herself lately.
She was still my sassy, funny, beautiful Amara—but more tired. Moody, even. She'd randomly snap at me when I asked what movie she wanted to watch, only to tear up ten minutes later because she thought I looked cute holding a glass of water.
And she'd gotten emotional over a cat video two nights ago. A cat video.
She never even liked cats.
I dried my hands and walked into the living room. She was curled up on the couch, dozing with a blanket around her and her phone still unlocked in her hand. Her brows were furrowed even in sleep.
My chest ached.
I sat beside her carefully and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. She shifted slightly, mumbling something about fried rice in her dreams.
This girl.
I ran a hand down my face, silently debating if I should bring it up again. The doctor thing.
She kept brushing it off—said it was just a stomach bug or maybe something she ate. But I wasn't so sure anymore.
The appetite, the nausea, the mood swings…
Was it something serious?
No. No, I didn't want to jump to conclusions. I'd promised not to freak out or Google symptoms like I did the first time she had a sore throat and I was convinced it was throat cancer.
Still, this felt different.
I glanced at her again. She looked peaceful now, soft breaths rising and falling slowly beneath the blanket. My heart softened.
She didn't even know how much I worried about her.
I stood, grabbed her phone from her hand, and set it gently on the table. Then I scooped her up into my arms. She stirred a little, eyes fluttering open halfway.
"Hmm?" she mumbled sleepily. "What're you doing?"
"Taking my queen to bed."
"You're strong," she whispered, nuzzling into my neck.
"You're light," I teased back, though she pinched me playfully for it.
Back in our room, I tucked her in and lay beside her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She smelled like strawberries and faint lemon soap—my favorite combination.
"Ethan?" she whispered after a long silence.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for taking care of me."
My heart melted.
"Always, Amara."
"Even if I get fat?" she added with a sleepy giggle.
"You'll still be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"Even if I eat all your blueberry pies?"
"I'll buy a bakery."
"Even if I scream at you for not picking a movie fast enough?"
I laughed. "I already survived that one."
She giggled again and nestled deeper into my arms. "Goodnight, husband."
"Goodnight, my everything."
She was asleep again within seconds, but I stayed up a little longer, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts spun, circling around her health, her changes, her strange moods.
I wasn't alarmed yet—but I was definitely alert.
And as much as I respected her independence, I was going to find a way to get her checked out. Just to be sure.
Maybe she wasn't sick. Maybe it was nothing.
But still, a part of me wondered if something big was coming.
I just didn't know what.
Not yet.