CHAPTER 245: MY DAUGHTER

By the time the sun began its descent, the world outside the tinted glass was awash in shades of amber. Five o’clock. Hours had slipped past in a blur of planners’ presentations, swatches, mood boards, laughter, and endless decisions. We had chosen a planner. Picked a venue. Even the officiant had been secured. Elise had somehow managed to make the process feel less like a chore and more like the most indulgent adventure of my life.

Now, the car hummed softly beneath us as it carried me back home. My stomach was pleasantly heavy, stretched by meals of flavors I’d never imagined, fruits whose names I couldn’t even pronounce, and desserts that melted like silk on my tongue. The car boot and the other four car’s that had guards and attendants were filled with glossy bags—silks, shoes, little luxuries Elise had pressed into my hands with a wave of nonsense, it suits you, darling. I’d never been this full, never been this... spoiled.

For a second, I let myself drift. Back to Adrien’s voice through the phone, low and steady, his promises threading through the noise of wedding plans. Three video calls already, each one shorter than I wanted but grounding in a way nothing else could be. Tomorrow the real work would begin again—the flowers, the invitations, the endless checklists.

I was so caught in the haze of the day, the sweetness of everything, that Elise’s voice startled me when it finally cut through my drifting thoughts.

"You’re pregnant."

My whole body went stiff. My eyes snapped to her, wide and startled, searching for any hint of mischief. But her expression was serene, lips curved with the faintest smile, eyes glimmering like she’d just recited a simple fact.

"I—what? No," I blurted, far too fast, far too defensive. My heart pounded, a drumbeat against my ribs, and every nerve screamed in panic.

Inside, I was screaming louder. How could she know? Did I slip? She couldn’t. She mustn’t.

Elise didn’t look surprised at all. Her expression was calm, knowing, as if she’d merely remarked on the weather.

Elise tilted her head, studying me with an infuriating gentleness. "Darling," she said softly, "you don’t need to deny it. I see it in your glow. In the way your hand drifts to your stomach when you aren’t even aware. Mothers always notice these things."

I swallowed hard, the rich flavors of the day turning to ash in my mouth. "That’s ridiculous, Elise. You’re projecting. I’m just... tired. The whole day has been exhausting. I haven’t even had time to breathe."

My hand, betraying me, reached up to smooth the fabric of my dress over my flat stomach. I snatched it back immediately, hating myself for confirming her observation.

Elise leaned back against the plush leather seat, the setting sun casting a golden halo around her perfectly coiffed hair. She didn’t press, didn’t argue. That was worse. Her silence was a heavy, embroidered blanket, suffocating me with its certainty.

"Is that what you call it, darling? Exhaustion?" Her tone remained gentle, conversational, as if she were discussing the merits of silk versus satin. "You spent twenty minutes in the powder room after that delicate quail dish, and you discreetly pushed aside the only glass of champagne offered all afternoon."

My breath hitched. The quail—a tiny portion, beautifully presented, but the scent of tarragon had sent a wave of icy nausea through me. I thought no one noticed. I thought my escape to the marble restroom had been seamless.

"I had a stomach ache," I mumbled, the lie weak and pathetic.

Elise sighed, a soft, maternal sound that grated on my nerves. "Of course you did. And I’m sure the fact that you insisted on ordering that rather peculiar, unpasteurized goat cheese for your tasting board—the one you didn’t touch—was merely a coincidence." She reached across the console, her manicured hand settling lightly over my trembling wrist. "Relax, sweetheart. It’s a wonderful thing."

The panic didn’t ease; it intensified. Because this wasn’t just knowing. This was calculated observation. She hadn’t been focused solely on the wedding plans; she had been watching me, cataloging every subtle shift in my behavior, every dietary aversion.

The air between us felt too heavy to pretend anymore. My hands twisted in my lap, nails biting lightly into my palms. Finally, with a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I whispered, "You’re right. I... I am pregnant."

Elise’s eyes softened instantly, brimming with something bright and uncontainable. She reached for me, and before I could even react, her arms wrapped around me, warm and perfumed, pulling me into her silk embrace.

"Oh, darling," she breathed, cupping my face lightly with both hands. "Thank you. Thank you for giving me a grandchild." Her voice wavered with a richness I hadn’t heard before—maternal, reverent, almost worshipful. "You cannot imagine what this means to me, to Adrien, to our family."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Elise..."

But her smile turned sharp in an instant, tempered with just enough scold to make me shrink back. "And how dare you keep this from me?" she chided, though her tone was more affectionate than angry. "Do you know how furious I am that I had to deduce this myself like some detective? You should have told me the moment you knew. I am your mother now too, Isabella. Don’t you ever forget that."

Her words came in a rush, playful and scolding all at once. I laughed weakly into her shoulder, the sound shaky with relief, with nerves, with everything I’d been holding back.

"I didn’t mean to," I murmured, cheeks burning as she cupped my face when she pulled back.

Her brows lifted. "Have you told Adrien?"

The question hit harder than her gentle scolding. My lips parted, but no sound came out. Finally, I shook my head. "No. Not yet."

Elise’s eyes widened. "Not yet? Isabella—"

"I want it to be his wedding present," I smiled. "I want him to find out that day. When everything feels... perfect. I want it to be something he’ll remember forever."

For a moment Elise was utterly still. Then her smile bloomed, dazzling, the kind that lit her entire face. She pressed her hands over mine like she was holding onto the best-kept treasure.

"You brilliant girl," she said softly, almost in awe. "Adrien will never survive this. He’ll worship you more than he already does. But—" her eyes twinkled with mock sternness—"if you make me wait even one more day for a grandchild update, I’ll camp outside your door until you talk to me first. Do you understand?"

I laughed, the sound freer this time, and leaned back into her hug. "Yes, Mother."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, warm and reverent, carrying more weight than I’d intended. For a heartbeat, I wasn’t in Elise’s car but back in a hospital ward years ago, staring at a brother in swaddling blankets and a father whose eyes had been red for weeks. My own mother hadn’t survived Leo’s birth, and the word had lived hollow in my chest ever since—empty, unclaimed. Saying it now... it felt strange, fragile, like giving away a piece of myself I’d locked away long ago.

Elise didn’t notice the tremor beneath the syllables. Or maybe she did, because her hand lifted, fingers gentle as they tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Then, almost instinctively, she let her palm rest against my stomach, the touch light, protective, and impossibly tender.

But when Elise’s eyes softened and her hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, I nearly broke. And when her palm settled gently, protectively, against my stomach, I couldn’t hold the sting in my eyes anymore.

"My daughter," she whispered, her voice so full of tenderness it felt like it was stitching something raw inside me back together.

The tears slipped free before I could stop them. I pressed a hand to my mouth, biting back the sob that threatened to spill out. Elise didn’t flinch, didn’t question it. She only pulled me closer, holding me like a mother should—as if I’d always belonged to her arms, her family, her love.