Claude sighed in quiet relief. This wasn't ideal—far from it—but it was better than watching her break again.
He knew repressed memories born of trauma could resurface later, and when they did, the damage might be even worse.
But for now, she was stable. That was all that mattered.
Still… he had to be sure.
"Do you… remember your daughter?" he asked gently.
Sophia's eyes widened, then slowly drifted downward. Her hand clutched her chest, as if something sharp had pierced it.
"Daughter…" she murmured, voice unsteady. "I think I had one… a long time ago… but I can't remember her face."
Her gaze lifted to Claude, seeking comfort—answers. "What actually happened to me?"
Claude didn't skip a beat. "It's alright. You must've hit your head hard when you fall in this room… Your memories are a little scrambled, that's all."
Sophia's eyes widened with alarm. "Really? Is my baby okay?"
Her hand moved protectively to her belly, still flat and barely beginning to swell with life.
