Late pregnancy arrived like a slow, steady tide— Reshaping the shoreline of their lives.
Gu Liang's body grew heavier. His movements lost their former ease. His belly rounded high, Cradling something precious and fragile.
With it came discomfort— Backaches, swollen ankles, shortness of breath, And nights broken by frequent trips to the bathroom.
Emma saw it all. Felt it all. Her once-clumsy care evolved into something quieter, More constant. More precise.
She became his human handrail. Whenever Gu Liang stood, Her arm instinctively reached out— A steady anchor.
On stairs, she hovered beside him, One arm loosely behind his back, Eyes locked on his feet, As if the marble steps hid unseen dangers.
At first, Gu Liang resisted. "I can manage," he'd murmur, frowning.
But Emma was stubborn. Her gaze brooked no argument.
Eventually, he stopped protesting. Sometimes, when rising felt difficult, He'd reach for her arm— Naturally. Unconsciously.
That subtle reliance Brushed against Emma's heart Like a feather— Soft, but deeply felt.
Nights became a shared trial.
Gu Liang's sleep fractured— Interrupted by fetal movement and urgency. Emma's sleep grew light. Every creak, every sigh, Every shuffle from the next room Jolted her awake.
She'd listen. Assess. Sometimes, she'd hear him pacing— Easing cramps or calming the baby.
Then she'd rise, Warm a cup of milk, Knock gently on his door.
"Come in," He'd say, voice thick with fatigue.
She'd enter, Offer the milk, Then kneel— Warming his cold, swollen feet with her palms, Or massaging his aching back.
Months ago, such intimacy was unthinkable. Now, it felt natural.
Gu Liang's body would tense at first, But Emma's touch— Learned from countless tutorial videos— Was patient. Skilled.
The pain eased. His muscles relaxed. Sometimes, he'd even sigh— Softly. Gratefully.
Their pheromones mingled in the quiet dark. Emma's cedar scent was steady, warm— A balm. Gu Liang's white tea softened, Blooming like night jasmine under moonlight.
No words. Just touch. Milk. Breath.
A bond beyond resentment, Beyond past wounds— Rooted in shared life.
At a checkup, the doctor warned: The baby's weight was rising too fast. Gentle exercise was advised.
From then on, Every clear evening, They walked together Through the private garden path below their building.
Emma slowed her pace, Matched his careful steps. She walked on the outer edge, One hand hovering at his back— Sharing the weight.
The sunset stretched their shadows long, Twining them together.
They rarely spoke. Just walked.
Emma watched the path, Noting every pebble, every dip.
"Careful—stone ahead." "Slow down—bit of a slope."
Her voice was low, Gentle. Unconsciously tender.
Gu Liang nodded, Adjusted his pace. He'd gaze at the sky, Or down at his belly— Feeling the baby move.
Sometimes, the kicks grew strong. He'd stop, Inhale sharply.
Emma would rush closer. "Did he hurt you?"
Gu Liang would shake his head, Then, without thinking, Take her hand And place it on his belly.
"He's practicing martial arts," He'd say, A rare, teasing smile in his voice.
Emma's palm, Pressed to the thin fabric, Would feel the steady, powerful rhythm.
Her child. Alive. Moving.
Her eyes would sting. She'd look up.
Gu Liang would meet her gaze.
Sunlight bathed them both, Turning their eyes bright.
Resentment, bitterness— Faded.
In the touch between palm and belly, A quiet warmth passed between them.
Dependency bloomed.
Not one-sided. But mutual. Slow. Real.
Emma leaned on Gu Liang and the child— They gave her purpose.
Gu Liang, In his most vulnerable state, Began to lean on her— The Alpha who once hurt him, Now steady. Reliable.
This bond was fragile, Like spider silk. But stronger than anything before.
Late pregnancy was a slow, aching journey. But with each other, It no longer felt unbearable.
The darkest hour before dawn was nearly past. And on the horizon, The light of new life Was rising—
Warm.
Hopeful.