CELESTINE'S POV: I am so fucking exhausted. That is the only word for it. Exhausted in a way that goes deeper than sleep, deeper than rest, deeper than anything that can be fixed with a good night's rest. The pregnancy is wearing on me. I am in my forties now, and carrying a child at this age is different from carrying one in my twenties or thirties. My body aches. My energy is low. My emotions are all over the place. But it is not just the pregnancy. It is the house. It is the tension that hangs in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating, impossible to ignore. Alistair barely speaks to Elara. He barely looks at her. When they are in the same room, he finds an excuse to leave. When she speaks, he pretends he does not hear her. The boy who used to follow her around, who used to laugh at her jokes and ask her for help with his homework, now treats her like a stranger. Elara is quiet and withdrawn. She spends most of her time in her room, reading or staring at the wall or writing
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