The bedroom was cloaked in the soft hum of silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of sheets and the distant chirp of crickets outside. Moonlight spilled gently through the curtains, casting silver light over Laura Moretti’s resting form. Five months pregnant with her second child, Amelia, Laura had barely found rest in recent days—her mind and body worn thin from the shadow of the past and the weight of the future.
Tonight was no different.
She had fallen asleep sideways, one hand protectively curled over her stomach, the other limp beside her. A dull ache twisted in her lower back, then spread like fire into her belly. She shifted with a quiet groan, her breath hitching—but didn’t wake. The pain simmered beneath the surface, like a warning.
Beside her, Luca Bianchi stirred.
Something felt wrong. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the dark. His hand reached out instinctively for her. But as his fingers brushed against the bed, they met something wet—warm.
He sat up in an instant.
His breath caught in his throat.
“Laura,” he whispered hoarsely.
Then louder, panicked. “Laura!”
The sheets beneath her were soaked in blood. A dark, spreading stain that seemed too much, too fast.
Laura moaned as he touched her arm, still half-dreaming. But when she saw the horror on Luca’s face—when she felt the cold dampness between her legs—she understood.
“Amelia,” she gasped, trembling.
Luca didn’t waste a second. He helped her sit up, hands shaking as he peeled the stained nightgown off her. His voice broke as he reassured her, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” even though he wasn’t sure if it was.
He changed her into something dry, something warm, lifting her gently in his arms like porcelain. She was lighter than he remembered. Too light.
The hospital lights were blinding. Sterile. Cold.
A doctor emerged after what felt like an eternity, his face grim.
“She’s stable,” he began, and Luca felt a rush of air fill his lungs for the first time in what felt like hours. “But the bleeding was stress-induced. Her body is exhausted. If she doesn’t rest—if the emotional strain continues—she may not carry to term. And if she does, the birth will be difficult. Painful.”
Luca nodded silently, barely hearing the words over the rush of blood in his ears. All he could think about was Laura. And Amelia. And the nightmare that nearly came true tonight.
When they returned home, the weight of the night caught up to them.
Laura sat on the couch for only a moment before her head lolled forward. Her skin had gone pale again.
“Laura?” Luca called, rushing to her side.
She didn’t respond.
He caught her just before she slid to the floor, lifting her once more. Her body felt fragile in his arms, and his chest ached with the heaviness of love and fear.
He carried her to their bedroom, gently laying her down, smoothing the blankets over her trembling form. As he brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead, he whispered, “Please, stay with me. Stay with us. We need you.”
Then, quietly, he placed a hand over her belly.
“And so does she.”
From the hallway came the soft shuffle of tiny feet. Luca looked up, startled, a little Giulia appeared at the doorway—her curly hair wild with sleep, eyes wide with worry.
“Papa?” she whispered, clutching her stuffed rabbit. “Why is Mama sleeping on the couch?”
Luca stood slowly, forcing a smile through the weight in his chest. He crossed the room and knelt in front of her, brushing a hand over her cheek.
“Mama's just very tired, Tesoro. She needs to rest a little more now.”
Giulia’s eyes flicked to the bed where Laura lay, motionless except for the soft rise and fall of her chest. She tilted her head, sensing more than she understood. “Is the baby okay?”
Luca swallowed hard, nodding. “Amelia is strong, just like Mama. They both just need quiet and love. Can you help me give them that?”
Giulia nodded solemnly and reached up to wrap her small arms around Luca’s neck. He held her tightly, feeling her tiny heartbeat against his chest, and for a moment, the tears he had been holding back fell freely. Not from panic now, but from the weight of love—for his wife, for the baby they were fighting for, and for the little girl who already carried so much tenderness in her heart.
Later, after Giulia had fallen asleep curled in a chair beside the bed, Luca sat watching over them all in silence. Laura shifted slightly in her sleep, her fingers twitching as if reaching for something in a dream.
He reached back and held her hand gently.
“We’ll get through this,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Together. No matter how painful. No matter what it costs.”
And in the stillness of the night, three heartbeats echoed in the room—one slow and steady, one small and fast, and one buried deep within Laura’s womb, fragile but defiant, like a flower blooming in the dead of winter.
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