The knocking at the door jolted Reisa awake. She blinked several times, her gaze drifting toward the clock on the wall. Her body ached all over, and the nausea twisting her stomach was unbearable.

She bolted for the bathroom, dropping to her knees just in time to heave into the toilet. Only bitter liquid came out—she hadn’t been able to eat since last night.

By Wisnu’s orders, Inah and her husband Tarno had moved in with them, tasked with maintaining the house and, more importantly, keeping an eye on Andra whenever he was around Reisa.

Sarah had promised to visit her niece once a week. Though they were technically left alone in this house, Wisnu never stopped monitoring things from a distance.

Every day, Inah tried preparing different kinds of food, but nothing stayed down. Reisa couldn’t stomach even a bite. The night before, she had cried herself to sleep, her hunger gnawing at her empty stomach until exhaustion finally dragged her under.

Since moving here, she spent most of her time locked away in her room. Her father had told her that once the baby was born, Andra would marry her. The thought made her chest ache all over again, as though her wound had been torn open and left to bleed. Would it ever heal? Only time could answer.

Marry.

Reisa loathed that word. She hated her father for saying it, hated fate for pushing her toward it, and most of all, she hated Andra—the bastard who had stolen her dignity. He had hidden behind the mask of friendship, only to betray her with deception.

But the deepest cut came from Dimas. The man who had sworn he loved her had left her without so much as a backward glance.

“Miss Reisa, it’s me, Inah. Please open the door, I want to come in.”

Inah’s voice was gentle, patient, lingering on the other side of the door with hope that Reisa might finally allow her inside.

Unbeknownst to her, Andra stood just behind Inah, holding his breath, unwilling to make a sound.

“Miss Rei, I brought food for you,” Inah coaxed. “It’s all delicious.”

Reisa hesitated, then finally cracked the door open just enough to peer out. She scanned the hallway quickly, as if making sure Andra wasn’t there. She had rejected him too many times to count.

“What is it?” she asked warily.

“I brought breakfast. Please, eat something first.”

“I feel sick,” she replied softly, almost apologetic.

“You didn’t eat anything yesterday. You’ll make yourself ill. Poor little one—”

Inah’s words faltered. Her eyes flicked to Reisa’s still-flat stomach.

“It is bad smells.”

“Just try it. If it doesn’t sit well, I’ll make something else.”

“What did you cook?”

“Chicken soup. With mushrooms, meatballs, and fresh vegetables. It’s light. Even my daughter had seconds.”

Inah tried to lighten the mood with a chuckle, but Reisa didn’t smile.

“Come in,” she finally said, opening the door wider.

Relief washed through Andra, who had been holding his breath. Thank God—at least she would eat something. He worried constantly about her health, and the baby’s.

Inah entered with a tray, leaving the door slightly ajar so Andra could overhear. She pitied her master, even if she didn’t fully approve of him.

Andra had tried to enter that room so many times. Being apart from Reisa was unbearable. But every attempt ended in rejection. If he couldn’t reach her, how could he ever make amends? And watching her wither only tore at him more—if he could, he would take her suffering onto himself.

Hyperemesis, the doctor had called it. Severe pregnancy sickness. Reisa’s body was weakening, her face pale, her frame thinning. She didn’t even bother combing her hair anymore.

All because of you, Andra.

Inah pulled up a chair beside her, gently brushing the damp strands of hair off her forehead.

“Still nauseous, Miss?”

“So much. I can’t take it anymore. I’d rather die.”

Andra’s heart clenched at the words. Don’t say that, Reisa. Please don’t.

Inah wrapped her arms around the girl, giving her a motherly embrace, warm and steady. Andra ached to be the one holding her instead—to comfort her, to shield her like any expectant father should. But that right had been stripped from him by his own sin.

“Let me feed you, Miss,” Inah said softly.

Reisa nodded faintly and lay back against the pillows, stacked high for support. With patient care, Inah began feeding her spoonfuls.

Reisa couldn’t stand rice anymore. Her sense of smell had sharpened painfully—detergent, fabric softener, even the scent of another person’s skin was enough to send her retching.

“Is it good?”

Reisa nodded, eating spoon by spoon. Inah whispered prayers of thanks, while from behind the door, Andra allowed himself a small smile at hearing her eat.

“The first trimester is always like this,” Inah said lightly. “Nausea, vomiting, dizziness—everything at once. But they say it’s a good sign. It means the baby is strong.”

Reisa froze, her eyes darting away, unwilling to accept those words. She didn’t know what she felt—whether she wanted to cherish the child or to reject it entirely.

“Don’t, Reisa. No matter how much you hate Andra, the child is innocent.”

That had been Aunt Sarah’s plea the night she caught Reisa swallowing abortion pills.

Reisa’s hand drifted to her stomach. Baby… what are you doing in there? Can you hear me? It’s Mommy, sweetheart.

Her inner war raged on, headaches flaring, nausea doubling back on itself.

“Do you want some fruit?” Inah asked gently, breaking her thoughts.

Reisa shook her head.

“Anything at all? Just say it, and I’ll prepare it. Try to eat something. Don’t let your stomach stay empty—it only makes the nausea worse.”

“I wanna ice cream.”

Andra’s ears caught the words instantly. He moved quickly but quietly down the stairs, into the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer. His mind raced. What flavor does she want? Chocolate? Vanilla? Fruit? She used to like everything… but now…

Unable to decide, he carried every flavor back upstairs.

“Ehem.” His throat cleared softly outside the door.

Reisa stiffened, choking at the sound of his voice. Her face drained of color, her hands trembling. Inah rushed to steady her.

“What is it, Sir?” Inah asked carefully.

“Reisa… I brought you ice cream.” His voice was low, coaxing, almost pleading.

“Don’t come in, Sir. Miss Reisa is eating,” Inah said firmly.

“Just take it, Reisa. I won’t come in,” Andra promised.

Inah rose quickly. “Wait, Miss. Let me get it.”

Reisa nodded faintly. Inah opened the door, retrieved the tray, and shut it again. She gave Andra a quiet look.

“Go, Sir.”

“I just… want to see her.” His voice broke. He missed her so much. Living under the same roof, yet unable to even glimpse her—it was torture.

“Miss Reisa doesn’t want to see you. Don’t force it. Let me take care of her.”

Andra swallowed hard, his eyes stinging.

“I miss her,” he whispered.

Inah sighed, her heart aching for him. She had known all along, even before his confession, how deep his feelings for Reisa truly ran.

“Wait for the right time. For now, let me be the bridge.” She patted his back with quiet reassurance.

“And my child?”

“Healthy. The doctor said everything’s fine.”

“If she needs anything, tell me. I’ll get it. Whatever it is.”

Andra drifted down the hall, his steps heavy. Moments ago, joy had flickered when he heard Reisa ask for ice cream. He had hoped for the tiniest chance to see her face again. But it slipped through his fingers like sand.

“Patience, Sir. One day she’ll let you in. We don’t know when. All we can do is wait,” Inah advised quietly.

When the dishes were finally cleared, Andra intercepted Inah at the kitchen.

“Don’t wash her spoon. Give it to me.”

Surprised, Inah handed it over. “Why? You want to help me with the dishes?”

“No. I want to eat with it.”

Inah blinked, then chuckled.

“I want to kiss where her lips touched,” he admitted with a crooked, aching smile.

Inah laughed softly, shaking her head. The house, usually so heavy with silence, felt just a little lighter.

She patted his shoulder once more. “Patience, Sir. Patience…”