The high-vaulted ceilings of the Duval residence felt oppressive as the sunlight streamed through the tall windows. Mileh sat on the velvet sofa, her face pale, her hands trembling as she held a glass of water. Suddenly, she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She barely made it to the ensuite bathroom before the violent sounds of morning sickness echoed through the hallway.
When she emerged, wiping her mouth with a damp cloth, her parents were standing there like twin statues of judgment.
"Mileh," her mother began, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and dread. "The timing... the sickness. Is it Arm's? Did you conceive before the wedding was called off? Is this the miracle we need to bring him back?"
Mileh leaned against the doorframe, her eyes hollow. "No, Mother. It isn't Arm's."
