The next morning, the house was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet I had once liked, the kind that gave you space to breathe. This felt different. Heavy. Like the walls were holding something in, something that pressed down on me the moment I opened my eyes.
For a few seconds, I didn't move.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, my body still, my mind already awake. The events of yesterday came back all at once, not gradually, not gently, but in a single, overwhelming wave.
The test.
The second test.
The certainty.
Pregnant.
My throat tightened, and I shut my eyes again, as if that might push the thought away.
It didn't.
It was there, waiting, unchanged.
My hand moved slowly to my stomach beneath the blanket, resting there with a kind of hesitation I hadn't felt before. The gesture felt unfamiliar, but at the same time, instinctive in a way I couldn't explain.
I pulled my hand back almost immediately.
No.
I wasn't ready for that.
I pushed myself up, ignoring the faint dizziness that followed, and sat on the edge of the bed. The room felt too still, too quiet, like everything was watching me even though nothing was there.
I couldn't think about it like that.
I couldn't think about it at all.
Not yet.
—
I left my room carefully, listening before stepping into the hallway.
Silence.
No movement.
No voices.
For a brief moment, relief slipped through me.
If Harley wasn't here, I wouldn't have to face him.
Not today.
I moved downstairs quietly, almost unconsciously avoiding the places where he usually was. The dining room was empty. The living room too.
Good.
I grabbed my bag and headed toward the door without stopping, not even pretending to look at the kitchen.
I didn't want food.
The thought of it made my stomach twist.
I just needed to get out.
"Sophie."
My steps stopped.
Of course.
I closed my eyes for a second before turning.
Harley stood near the hallway entrance, his gaze already fixed on me. He must have come down while I was upstairs. Or maybe he had been there the whole time and I just hadn't noticed.
"You're leaving early," he said.
"I have work."
"You didn't eat."
"I'm not hungry."
The answers came automatically now.
Too easily.
Harley didn't move, but his expression shifted slightly, something tightening beneath the surface.
"You've said that for three days."
"I've been busy."
"That's not the same thing."
I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, avoiding his eyes. "I'll eat later."
"You won't."
My chest tightened slightly.
I didn't respond.
Because he was right.
And I hated that he was right.
A moment of silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.
"Sophie," he said again, quieter this time.
I looked up despite myself.
His gaze held mine, steady, searching.
"Talk to me."
The words were simple.
Too simple.
They pressed against everything I was trying to hold back.
For a second, I almost did.
The truth rose up, sharp and immediate, sitting at the edge of my throat. I could feel it there, ready to spill out if I just let go.
I'm pregnant.
The words echoed in my mind, louder than anything else.
My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.
I couldn't.
Not like this.
Not now.
"There's nothing to talk about," I said.
My voice came out steadier than I felt.
Harley's jaw shifted slightly. "That's not true."
"It is."
"You won't even look at me."
I forced myself to meet his gaze again.
"I'm looking at you."
"Not really."
Something flickered in his expression—frustration, maybe, or something deeper I couldn't quite name.
"You're avoiding me."
"I'm not."
"You left yesterday without saying anything."
"I had work."
"You came back and locked yourself in your room."
My breath caught.
He had noticed.
Of course he had.
I swallowed, forcing my expression to stay neutral. "I was tired."
"You're always tired lately."
"I've been busy."
"Sophie."
My name came out sharper this time.
It made something inside me flinch.
I couldn't stay here.
Not with him looking at me like that.
Not with everything so close to the surface.
"I'm going to be late," I said quickly, turning toward the door.
His hand caught my wrist before I could take another step.
The contact startled me.
Not because it was forceful—it wasn't—but because it was enough to stop me completely.
"Wait," he said.
My breath felt uneven.
I looked down at his hand, then slowly back up at him.
"Harley…"
"What's going on?" he asked.
There was no anger in his voice now.
Just something quieter.
Something more dangerous.
Concern.
I shook my head slightly. "Nothing."
"That's not true."
"It is."
"Sophie—"
"I said it is."
The words came out sharper than I intended, cutting through the space between us.
For a second, everything went still.
His grip on my wrist loosened slightly.
But he didn't let go.
"You're lying," he said quietly.
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because they were true.
And because he knew it.
"I'm not," I said.
But even to my own ears, the denial sounded weaker now.
Harley's gaze didn't leave mine. "Then tell me what's wrong."
I couldn't.
The truth sat right there, pressing against my chest, begging to be released, but I couldn't push it past my lips.
Because once I said it—
Everything would change.
There would be no taking it back.
No pretending it wasn't real.
No space to figure things out on my own.
And I wasn't ready for that.
"I don't want to talk about it," I said instead.
The words felt like a compromise.
A weak one.
Harley went still.
Something in his expression shifted again, more subtle this time.
Hurt.
It was brief.
Barely there.
But I saw it.
And it made my chest tighten.
"Since when do you shut me out?" he asked.
The question landed deeper than anything else he had said.
I didn't have an answer.
Or maybe I did.
Since I found out something that changes everything between us.
But I couldn't say that.
Not yet.
"I'm not shutting you out," I said.
"It feels like you are."
"I just need some time."
"For what?"
I hesitated.
Too long.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Sophie."
"I said I need time," I repeated.
"For what?" he asked again, more firmly this time.
My heart started to race.
Because he wasn't letting it go.
Because he was getting closer.
Too close.
"Why does everything have to be something?" I snapped, frustration rising suddenly, sharply. "Why can't I just be tired without you turning it into an interrogation?"
The words hung in the air between us.
Harsh.
Unfair.
I knew that the moment they left my mouth.
Harley's expression hardened slightly, his grip finally loosening as he let go of my wrist.
"I'm not interrogating you," he said.
"It feels like it."
"I'm asking because I'm worried."
"I don't need you to be."
The silence that followed was immediate.
Heavy.
I shouldn't have said that.
I knew I shouldn't have.
But I couldn't take it back.
Harley's gaze held mine for a second longer before something in it closed off.
Not completely.
But enough.
"Fine," he said.
Just one word.
Flat.
Controlled.
He stepped back, giving me space.
Too much space.
"Do whatever you want."
The distance in his voice felt sharper than anything else.
I stood there for a second, my chest tight, something twisting uncomfortably inside me.
Then I turned and walked out.
—
The entire day passed in silence.
Not actual silence—the hospital was as busy as ever—but inside me, everything felt muted.
I moved through my shift automatically, speaking when I needed to, listening when required, doing my job without making mistakes.
But I didn't talk more than necessary.
I didn't stay anywhere longer than I had to.
And when Samuel approached me more than once, his expression careful, his voice gentle, I only gave him the same answer every time.
"I'm fine."
He didn't believe me.
I could see it in his eyes.
But he didn't push.
Not today.
For that, I was grateful.
Because if he had—
I didn't know if I would have been able to keep everything in.
—
When I got back to the mansion that evening, the silence greeted me again.
It felt heavier now.
More noticeable.
I stepped inside slowly, slipping off my shoes, my movements quieter than usual.
For a moment, I thought I was alone.
Then I saw him.
Harley stood in the living room, leaning slightly against the back of the sofa, his arms crossed.
Waiting.
My chest tightened.
I paused near the entrance.
Neither of us spoke.
The tension from the morning lingered between us, unspoken but impossible to ignore.
"I thought you'd be working late," I said finally.
"I finished early."
Of course he had.
He pushed himself off the sofa and took a step closer.
"You didn't answer me this morning."
I exhaled quietly. "I said I needed time."
"For what?"
The question again.
Relentless.
I shook my head slightly. "I can't do this right now."
"Sophie—"
"Please."
The word came out softer this time.
More fragile.
That made him stop.
For a second, something in his expression shifted again, uncertainty flickering through.
"I just need a little time," I said, my voice quieter now. "That's all I'm asking."
He studied me carefully, as if weighing something.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Fine."
The word sounded different this time.
Less sharp.
But still distant.
I swallowed and looked away.
"Thank you."
Neither of us moved after that.
The silence settled between us again, heavier than before.
Eventually, I turned and walked upstairs.
This time, he didn't stop me.
—
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the same position I had started the day in.
But everything felt heavier now.
More real.
The truth was still there.
Unchanged.
Unavoidable.
And now—
So was the distance between us.
I had chosen silence.
And it was already costing me more than I was ready to lose.
But even knowing that—
I still couldn't speak.
Not yet.