Cielo doesn't tell anyone for three days.
Not because she doesn't know how.
But because saying it out loud makes it permanent in a way even notebooks can't undo.
—
So she lives in a quiet in-between state:
pregnant, but pretending she is not.changed, but acting unchanged.frightened, but still functioning.
—
Jessa notices immediately, of course.
Jessa always notices.
—
"You're doing that thing again," Jessa says one morning.
Cielo stirs her coffee.
"What thing."
—
"That thing where you look like you're holding a whole government secret inside your stomach."
—
Cielo pauses.
"…That is very specific."
—
"It's accurate."
—
Cielo exhales slowly.
Then finally:
"I am not a government secret."
A beat.
"I am… a personal emergency."
—
Jessa sits down across her.
"Okay. Talk."
—
Cielo stares at the table.
And for once, her sarcasm doesn't arrive first.
—
"I am pregnant," she says quietly.
—
Silence.
—
Jessa drops her spoon.
It clatters dramatically against the floor like it is part of the emotional soundtrack.
—
"…You WHAT."
—
Cielo nods.
"Three months. Allegedly."
—
Jessa stands up immediately.
"Allegedly?! CIELO THAT'S A HUMAN NOT A SOFTWARE UPDATE."
—
Cielo almost smiles.
Almost.
—
"I am still trying to process the difference."
—
Jessa sits back down slowly.
Then softer:
"…Is it his?"
—
Cielo doesn't answer immediately.
Not because she doesn't know.
But because knowing and accepting are two different systems in her brain.
—
"…Yes," she says finally.
—
And that one word changes the air.
—
Because suddenly—
everything is no longer theoretical.
No longer dream-coded.
No longer fragmented memories and emotional confusion.
—
It is real.
—
That night, Cielo stands outside again.
No umbrella.
No calculations.
Just her.
And the sky.
—
Her hand rests lightly over her stomach.
Still flat. Still quiet. Still early.
—
But not empty.
—
"I don't know what I'm doing," she whispers.
—
The wind doesn't answer.
It never does.
—
But something inside her does.
Not a voice.
Not a thought.
—
A pulse.
A reminder.
—
Fear arrives first.
Of course it does.
Fear is always punctual.
—
Fear of sunlight.Fear of consequences.Fear of the life she already struggled to hold together.
—
But then—
something else follows.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
—
Strength.
—
Not loud.
Not heroic.
Not dramatic.
—
Just the kind that says:
You are still here. So you continue.
—
Days pass differently after that.
Not easier.
Not lighter.
But clearer.
—
Cielo starts planning again.
Not escape routes this time.
—
Practical things.
—
Clinic visits.Food intake.Sleep schedules.
Jessa, watching her, mutters:
"You've become a pregnant engineer."
—
Cielo replies:
"I prefer: risk-managed human being."
—
But at night, fear returns.
Always at night.
—
And with it—
dreams.
—
Lee appears differently now.
Less like a mystery.
More like a consequence.
—
He doesn't speak immediately.
Just looks at her.
As if he already knows.
—
"You found out," he says softly.
—
Cielo crosses her arms.
"I didn't find out. I was informed. Violently."
—
A faint smile.
"You're scared."
—
"I am always scared," she replies.
A pause.
"Today I just have better reasons."
—
He steps closer.
Not touching.
Just near enough that the space between them feels meaningful.
—
"You don't have to do this alone," he says.
—
Cielo laughs once.
Small.
Broken at the edges.
—
"That's funny," she says.
"Because I've been alone in most of my life decisions even when people were physically present."
—
Silence.
—
Then softer:
"…But this is different."
—
She wakes up before he can respond.
Breathing uneven.
Hand still on her stomach.
—
And for a moment—
she realizes something terrifying.
—
She is no longer just surviving her life.
—
She is responsible for two.
—
The next morning, she writes in her notebook again:
"Fear is present.But so is function."
She pauses.
Then adds:
"Conclusion: I am still standing."
—
Jessa reads it later and doesn't joke this time.
She just says quietly:
"You're stronger than you think."
—
Cielo looks away.
"That's the problem," she says.
"If I accept that… then I have to keep proving it."
—
Outside, sunlight spills across the province.
Warm.
Unforgiving.
Alive.
—
And Cielo stands in it longer than she used to.
Not because she isn't afraid anymore.
—
But because fear is no longer the only thing that moves her forward.
—
—
End of Chapter: Fear and Strength