For weeks, I had been feeling it—a fog in my brain, a metallic tang in my mouth that toothpaste couldn’t scrub away. The doctors called it “pregnancy brain.” David called it “hormones.” But my instincts, primal and screaming, called it something else.

“I’m fine, David,” I lied, keeping my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “Just tired. Lily has been acting out lately. She keeps hiding my food.”

David laughed, a sound that lacked warmth, like dry leaves skittering on pavement. “She’s just jealous, darling. She knows she won’t be the only princess soon. Ignore her. Just focus on… us.”