Elira – 11:46 AM. The Bathroom Floor.
Two weeks had passed since she slipped out of that suite before sunrise.
Two weeks since she promised herself it was over—that he was over.
She had walked away. Again. Stronger this time. Unapologetic.
But her body had betrayed her.
The nausea started days ago. Quiet, subtle. Easy to ignore until it wasn't.
Then the missed period. Then the deep ache in her gut that told her this wasn't just stress or bad luck.
The test lay on the counter, mocking her calm. A tiny piece of plastic with the power to detonate everything.
Elira sat on the floor in silence, the stick in her hand now. No tears. No drama.
Just her… and the truth.
Two lines.
Her breath caught, but she didn't cry. Didn't scream. Just stared.
"…damn."