Rosie hadn't slept the entire night.
She sat on the edge of her bed, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the moonlight sifting through the curtains. Her mind was a war zone—each thought louder, more terrifying than the last. The soft ticking of the old wall clock became unbearable. And when the first traces of orange began to bleed into the sky, she knew she couldn't keep it in any longer.
Without a second thought, she padded across the hallway and knocked quietly on Arthur's door.
He opened it, shirt rumpled from sleep, hair tousled. One look at her face and he sobered instantly.
"What happened?" he asked, voice hushed, stepping aside.
She walked in slowly, her hands shaking slightly. "I… missed my period."
Arthur stared at her for a beat, his breath catching. "Are you sure?"
"It's been over a week." Rosie swallowed. "And I've never been late like this. Not once."
The silence stretched between them like a thick, unbreachable fog. Arthur ran a hand through his hair and sat down on the edge of his bed.
"Okay. Okay," he muttered, as if trying to process it aloud. "This could be stress, hormones… right? But we should check."
Rosie nodded. "I didn't want to go alone."
"You won't."
They sat in heavy silence, tension coiling like a storm waiting to break. For the first time since their chaotic nights on the terrace, the weight of reality came crashing down on them.
By the time the house had begun to stir, the two of them had forced themselves to pull it together.
Downstairs, the breakfast table buzzed with idle chatter. Jane was talking about a new gallery opening in the city, Charles reading out loud from a ridiculous news headline. Everything felt normal. Too normal.
Rosie sat next to Arthur, her expression carefully blank. Beneath the table, her foot tapped against his ankle, a silent signal. Arthur didn't look at her, but he nodded subtly. He caught Charles between bites.
"Hey, uh," Arthur began, forcing a casual tone. "Could you do me a favor?"
Charles raised a brow, still chewing. "What's up?"
"I think I left something important at the mechanic's yesterday—my phone holder. Can you swing by there? It's not far, just ten minutes."
Charles looked skeptical. "Why don't you go?"
Arthur shrugged. "Rosie and I were gonna head into town for something, but I can't go if I wait for them to open. It's kind of time-sensitive."
Rosie leaned in, smiling sweetly. "Please, Charles? You'd be saving him from a mini meltdown."
Charles chuckled. "Alright, alright. I'll be back soon. I expect gratitude in the form of coffee."
"Deal," Arthur said quickly.
The moment Charles left, Arthur and Rosie made their move. They claimed they were headed to a bookstore. Jane didn't question it—her head still buried in travel plans on her phone.
The hospital was quiet that morning, sterile and humming with fluorescent lighting. They sat in the waiting room, shoulders pressed together but barely speaking.
When the nurse finally called them in, Rosie's pulse thundered in her ears.
An hour later, after the tests, the doctor looked at them kindly but without softness. She didn't need to say it twice.
Rosie was pregnant.
They left the hospital in silence. Neither one spoke on the way back to the mansion. Every step felt heavier. Every breath was uncertain.
Back home, the two slipped through the front door like thieves in the night. Jane and Charles were still out. Rosie didn't ask where—they just needed to disappear. At least for a while.
The rest of the day passed in strange, stifling quiet. Rosie stayed holed up in her room. Arthur barely left his. They didn't show up for dinner. When Jane knocked gently on Rosie's door later that evening, Rosie called out that she wasn't feeling well. Jane didn't press.
That night, they ate leftovers cold in Rosie's room—knees touching on the floor, forks scraping against ceramic plates. Neither had much of an appetite, but it felt like something to do. Something to keep from unraveling completely.
Rosie was still in her hoodie and shorts, curled against her pillow when Arthur knocked and let himself in just after midnight. The moonlight made her skin look pale, ghostly.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
She shook her head.
Arthur sat near the window, his back against the wall, long legs stretched in front of him. Rosie got up quietly, walking over and settling between his legs, her back pressed to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her instinctively, and they sat like that—no words, no pressure.
After a while, she spoke.
"We have to talk about it."
"I know."
She twisted slightly so she could see him. "What are we going to do, Arthur?"
His voice was low. "I don't know."
Rosie looked down at her hands. "I'm scared."
He rested his chin on her shoulder. "Me too."
Silence. Then:
"Do you think we should… terminate?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.
Arthur's jaw tensed. "I don't know if I could live with that decision. But I don't know if we can live with the alternative either."
Rosie exhaled, her breath shaky. "We're not ready. We're sneaking around. Lying. This could ruin everything."
"But what if it's the beginning of something instead?"
She turned to face him fully now, straddling his lap, her hands braced against his chest. "What if we lose everything, Arthur?"
He looked up at her, eyes soft. "Then we build something else."
Her lip trembled. "We have to make a choice."
He nodded. "Not tonight. But soon."
Rosie leaned her forehead against his. "Will you stay with me?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
She closed her eyes, sinking into him, letting the warmth of his chest lull her into stillness. They didn't sleep that night. They just held each other in the dark, perched between love and fear, uncertainty and hope.
And somewhere, in that fragile silence, a seed of resolve began to take root.