“Sweetheart,” Andra whispered softly, loosening his grip.

“Don’t… touch me.”

Reisa’s voice was barely audible, her body trembling. She pushed weakly against his chest, trying to break free.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Please…” she sobbed, the word choked between tears.

“I won’t ever hurt you like that again.”

His hand brushed over her hair gently, tenderly, but she still struggled. Finally, Andra let go. Reisa collapsed onto the floor, shaking with sobs.

Andra sank to his knees in front of her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

“Shh… breathe. Just breathe.”

She covered her face with both hands, tears streaming endlessly. Andra’s fingers stroked her hair, trying to soothe her trembling. She wept uncontrollably, too broken to fight anymore.

“Do you want some porridge?” he asked quietly.

No answer. Andra sighed, running a hand over his face in frustration.

“Do you, sweetheart? I can feed you if you’re too tired.” His voice softened, as though speaking to glass he was afraid might shatter.

Reisa looked up at him then—her swollen eyes meeting the face she despised, the face that haunted her. The face she could never seem to escape.

She had tried once. Tried to run. But Inah had stopped her, swearing she would guard Reisa with her very life.

“Just a little, hm?” Andra coaxed.

Reisa shook her head quickly, lowering her gaze again. Fear flickered in her eyes, raw and unyielding.

Andra didn’t press. Instead, he moved to fetch a spoon and bowl, grateful the porridge hadn’t spilled. He opened it and lifted a spoonful toward her lips.

“Come on… just a bite.”

The spoon hovered inches from her mouth.

“Please. Eat for our baby.”

Her head snapped up, lips trembling. “Our… baby?”

The truth stabbed her like a blade. That child—growing inside her—was theirs. Conceived not in love, but in pain. And yet, she could not deny it.

Andra’s breath hitched. He realized his mistake, quickly correcting himself. “I mean… for the baby. Don’t make them suffer.”

Reisa wiped her tears, silent. Then, slowly, she opened her mouth. Bite by bite, she ate. The two of them sat together on the floor, neither caring about the cold tiles beneath them. Hunger consumed her, and before she realized it, the porridge was gone.

“Do you want some milk?” Andra asked carefully.

“…Yes.”

His chest loosened. Finally—finally she was speaking to him.

Andra hurried to the fridge, pouring a glass of UHT milk. He carried it back and crouched in front of her.

“I’ll help you drink.”

“No. I… I can do it myself.” Her voice wavered, but for the first time, there was no venom—only hesitation.

She shifted away, keeping distance, but she still took the glass from his hands. In moments, it was empty. She pressed a hand to her stomach, full and slightly queasy, swallowing hard to keep it down.

“Do you want more?”

“No. That’s enough.”

Andra quickly set the glass on the table, careful to keep it from falling. A shard of glass could cut her—he wouldn’t let that happen.

“Ah…” Reisa winced, holding her stomach as she tried to stand. Pain twisted through her.

Alarmed, Andra sprang forward, steadying her. “What’s wrong?”

“My stomach… it hurts.”

“Let me help you upstairs. You shouldn’t go alone.”

She pulled away. “No, I’ll be fine. Slowly.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I can do it.”

“Sweetheart… don’t you want your baby’s father beside you?”

She froze. The word “father” echoed, heavy and undeniable. He was the father, no matter how much she hated him.

Ignoring him, she tried to take a step—then gasped.

Without waiting for permission, Andra swept her into his arms. “That’s it. I’m taking you up.”

He carried her upstairs, heart pounding. From now on, he thought, she needed a room downstairs. A pregnant woman shouldn’t be climbing stairs—not this close to giving birth. How had he not realized it sooner?

Gently, he laid her on the bed, propping pillows behind her. His eyes softened as he whispered, “Rest now, Rei.”

He kept his distance, afraid of breaking what little trust he had rebuilt.

“Thank you, Andra,” she murmured faintly.

“Is your stomach still hurting? I’ll take you to the doctor tomorrow.”

“No need. I already went today.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Inah and Tarno took me.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“You were busy.”

“I still want to know how our baby’s doing,” he insisted.

She faltered, then said softly, “The baby’s healthy. Good weight, good length.”

“Where’s the ultrasound?”

“In Inah’s bag.”

“That’s all I need. As long as you’re both safe… it’s enough.”

Her gaze lingered on him, hesitant, conflicted. Silence hung between them, broken only by the night sounds outside.

“Is there anything else I can do?” he asked, his heart racing.

He longed to hold her, to feel the swell of her belly beneath his palm. But he stayed rooted in place, afraid to push her too far.

“The doctor said…”

“What?”

“…At the next check-up… the father has to come.”

“The father?” His voice cracked.

“Yes.” Her eyes dropped, shame and uncertainty clouding her.

For a moment Andra could only stare. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—gentle, fragile, filled with hope. It felt like spring had bloomed in the dead of winter.

Those words—small as they were—meant everything.

There was still a chance. A chance to stand beside her again. A chance to welcome their child together.

Andra bowed his head, promising silently: whatever it took, he would never leave her side again. Not now. Not ever.

But then, Wisnu’s voice echoed in his memory.

“I’m entrusting Reisa to you. Whether or not she heals… depends on your effort. If she doesn’t find happiness, I’ll take her and the baby far away, and you’ll never see them again.”

Andra had nodded that night, listening with clenched fists.

“You have nine months, Andra. Until the baby is born. Prove yourself. If you fail, I’ll take them both. But if you succeed… the wedding will happen after the birth.”

Terror and joy had warred inside him that night.

Wisnu’s last words rang like a vow:

“If your love is real, prove it with everything you are.”