*Saoirse*

I stood before the grand mirror, my hands gently resting on the curve of my belly where our twins nestled. Six months in, and I was starting to show, which meant my clothes were starting to squeeze. The array of gowns and finery that Rhys had gifted me no longer welcomed me as they once did.

The fabrics strained against my form, seams whispering their discontent as if mourning the shapes they could no longer contain. I felt my lower lip wobble, an ...