The next day soft light of late morning filtered through the lace curtains of Valeria’s room, casting delicate patterns across the wooden floor. The gentle chirping of birds outside was the only sound until the faint creak of the door opening broke the quiet.

Mrs. Stella stepped inside, her elegant gown rustling as she moved. Her expression was calm but held a flicker of worry beneath her composed exterior. She held a small bundle of fresh herbs in her hands, their faint aroma filling the air.

“Valeria, my dear,” Mrs. Stella began, her tone warm yet laced with curiosity. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Valeria, who had been sitting on the edge of her bed reading, set the book aside and stood up, smoothing the fabric of her dress. Her cheeks held a faint flush, whether from the warmth of the room or the topic she knew was coming, she wasn’t sure.

“Not at all, Mrs. Stella,” she replied with a soft smile. “Please, come in.” Mrs. Stella approached her with measured steps, her eyes searching Valeria’s face. “I wanted to check on you,” she said gently, her voice softening. “The treatment—you’ve been through so much. I was wondering… has the insemination been successful?”

For a moment, Valeria hesitated, her heart fluttering with a mix of emotions. But then she nodded, her lips curving into a radiant smile. “Yes,” she said, her voice steady despite the bubbling excitement beneath it. “The doctor said everything looks promising. If all goes well, I might conceive in no time.”

Mrs. Stella’s expression brightened, and she clasped her hands together in delight. “Oh, Valeria, that is wonderful news! Truly wonderful.” Her eyes glistened with emotion as she stepped closer, her presence almost maternal. “You’ve no idea how happy this makes me. For you. For Markus. For all of us.”

Valeria’s smile softened, and she tilted her head slightly. “I hope Markus feels the same,” she said, her voice quieter now, a note of uncertainty creeping in.

Mrs. Stella reached out and took Valeria’s hands in her own, her grip firm yet comforting. “He will,” she assured her. “He just needs time. This news… it’s a blessing, Valeria. A child has a way of bringing people together, of healing wounds even when we think they can’t be mended.”

Valeria’s eyes shimmered, her emotions momentarily overwhelming her. “Thank you, Mrs. Stella. For everything. You’ve been so kind to me, even when I felt like I didn’t belong.”

Mrs. Stella squeezed her hands, her smile warm and reassuring. “You do belong, my dear. You’re part of this family now. And soon, you’ll bring a new life into it—a life full of hope and promise.”

“I’ll leave you to rest,” Mrs. Stella said finally, stepping back. “But do call for me if you need anything at all.” Valeria nodded, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. As Mrs. Stella left the room, the door closing softly behind her, Valeria let out a small sigh of relief, her hand instinctively resting on her stomach.

As Mrs. Stella stepped out of the room, the soft click of the door closing felt like the end of a comforting embrace. Valeria remained standing for a moment, staring at the space where Mrs. Stella had been, the warmth of her words lingering like a faint glow.

But as silence settled over the room once more, the weight of earlier events came crashing down on her. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her hands trembling as they pressed against the cool wooden planks. Tears spilled over her lashes, unchecked and relentless, as the carefully maintained composure she’d held in Mrs. Stella’s presence shattered.

Markus’s words replayed in her mind like a cruel echo, each one cutting deeper than the last. “I don’t love you.” His voice had been cold, devoid of even the smallest trace of warmth or care. She had tried so hard to bridge the gap between them, to understand him, to make things work. But all her efforts seemed futile, met only with his indifference and disdain.

Her fingers clutched at the fabric of her dress, twisting it as sobs wracked her body. The pain in her chest felt unbearable, as if the very air in the room was suffocating her.

“Why?” she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own cries. “Why can’t he see that I only want to make this work? That I only want us to be… happy?”

She leaned against the edge of the bed, her forehead pressed to the side of the mattress. The tears kept coming, a torrent of grief and frustration that she couldn’t hold back.

Valeria’s mind drifted to the moments when she had dared to hope for something different—for kindness, for affection, for love. The thought of a child had given her a glimmer of hope, a chance to bring light into her life with Markus. But now, even that hope felt fragile, precariously balanced on the edge of despair.

She stayed there for what felt like an eternity, the quiet of the room broken only by the sound of her quiet sobs. The weight of her emotions drained her, leaving her feeling hollow and exhausted.

Finally, she wiped her face with trembling hands, her fingers brushing away the last of her tears. She sat back, leaning against the bed, and stared at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes.

“I’ll be strong,” she whispered to herself, though her voice wavered. “I have to be. For myself. For the future of this child.” But even as she said the words, a small part of her heart longed for Markus to come to her, to apologize, to hold her and tell her that things could be different.

Valeria remained seated on the floor for a moment longer, her tear-streaked face softening as she drew in a shaky breath. She wiped her cheeks again, this time with more purpose, her trembling hands steadying as a new determination began to build within her.

“This isn’t the way.” she thought to herself. If I want to fix this—if I want to build something with Markus—I can’t just sit here and cry. I have to try harder.

Her heart still ached, and doubt lingered at the edges of her resolve, but she forced herself to her feet. Adjusting her dress and running a hand through her disheveled hair, she inhaled deeply and let out a slow exhale.

She knew Markus was hurt, and while his words had been harsh, she couldn’t ignore the possibility that his pain was clouding his actions. She had to reach out to him, even if it meant taking the first step again.

A thought struck her, and her gaze shifted toward the door. Maybe something small—something simple but thoughtful. She recalled how tired he had looked earlier, the tension evident in his posture. Perhaps a warm meal could serve as a gesture of peace, an olive branch extended in the hopes of easing the strain between them.

Valeria left her room and made her way toward the castle’s grand kitchen. The scent of freshly baked bread and simmering herbs greeted her as she stepped inside. Several staff members bustled about, their movements precise and practiced as they prepared the evening’s meals.

“Lady Valeria,” the head cook, a plump woman named Greta, greeted her with a warm smile and a slight bow. “What brings you to the kitchen?”

Valeria returned the smile, though hers was tinged with nervousness. “Greta, I… I was hoping you could help me with something.” she planned on making something for Markus to freshen up his mood and to make sure they talked.

“Of course, my lady. What do you need?” Greta asked, setting down a wooden spoon she had been using to stir a pot.

“I want to make soup for Markus,” Valeria explained, her voice steady despite the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Something hearty and comforting, but simple enough that I can help prepare it myself.”

Greta’s face lit up with understanding, and she nodded enthusiastically. “Ah, a gesture straight from the heart. A fine idea, my lady. Don’t worry; I’ll guide you through it.”

The cook ushered Valeria to a workstation, gathering fresh ingredients: tender chicken, root vegetables, fragrant herbs, and a warm loaf of bread to accompany the meal.

“First, we’ll prepare the broth,” Greta began, her hands deftly working as she showed Valeria how to chop the vegetables and season the chicken. Valeria followed along, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

As they worked side by side, Greta glanced at her and smiled knowingly. “A little effort like this can mean a great deal, my lady. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but I think it’s more about showing care.”

Valeria chuckled softly, a hint of color rising to her cheeks. “I hope you’re right.” By the time the soup was simmering on the stove, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma, Valeria felt a small flicker of pride. She had contributed to every step, and while her hands bore the marks of her inexperience—small nicks from the knife and a bit of flour on her sleeve—she felt a sense of accomplishment.