Page 36 of The Baker’s Shadow
“I’m calling someone. Don't argue.”
“Who—”
“Someone who can contact the father and get him back here.” Her voice is firm. Matter-of-fact. “Don't look surprised. I've been running a business in this neighborhood for forty years. I see things. That man who's been coming around? The way you look at each other? The way you smell different after he visits?” She's already dialing. “I’m old, not blind.”
“Mrs. Chen—”
“Save your strength. You can explain later. Or not. I don't care. But that baby needs its father right now.”
I try to nod. Can’t. The white is creeping back in. Swallowing the edges.
The baby’s pulse is everywhere now. Not just in my stomach. In my chest. My throat. My head. Pounding. Demanding. Dying.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. To the baby. To myself. To him. “I’m sorry.”
Then the white takes over completely.
Warmth.
It seeps in slowly. Through my skin. Into my bones. Chasing away the hollow.
A hand on my stomach. Fever hot. Familiar.
“Kaia.”
His voice pulls me back. I fight toward it through layers of white nothing.
“Come back. Now.”
My eyes flutter open. Malak’s face fills my vision. His expression is terrifying. Raw. Like every carefully constructed wall has shattered.
“I felt you dying.” The words are rough. Scraped raw. “Felt it across town. Through the Hollow. Everywhere.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not. You stubborn fool.” His hand presses harder against my stomach. Heat floods through me. Not just surface warmth. Something deeper. Essence. Life. “You can’t survive without me.”
“I was trying.”
“Well, stop trying. You’re killing yourself. Killing my child.”
The essence keeps pouring in. The hollow starts to fill. The baby’s pulse slows. Steadies. Calms.
I’m still on the kitchen floor. Flour everywhere. Mrs. Chen standing by the back door, arms crossed, watching us with knowing eyes.
“You two need to stop pretending,” she says.
“I’m not pretending anything.” But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.
Malak doesn’t respond. Just keeps his hand on my stomach, feeding me. Feeding us. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.
When the hollow finally fades to nothing, he doesn’t pull away. Just sits there on the floor beside me, his hand still pressed to my stomach like he’s afraid to let go.
“This is insane,” I say quietly. “We can’t do this. I can’t need you like this.”
“Too late.” His voice is flat. Empty. “It’s already done.”
“There has to be another way.”
