A soft knock echoed at the door, pulling Eliana from her misery. She froze, wiping her eyes hastily with the back of her hand. Who could it be? She didn't feel like answering, didn't want to face anyone in this state. But her innate politeness, born from years of humble resilience, won out. What if it was James with a kind word, or Vicky the housekeeper checking on her? She couldn't be rude.
With a steadying breath, Eliana eased her very pregnant body out of bed—slowly, carefully, and with the dignity of someone who refuses to let swollen ankles ruin her entire existence. Every step across the plush carpet sent a dull throb up her feet, a lingering reminder of the circus at the university earlier that day. Reporters had practically chased her like she was a rare endangered animal, not a tired woman just trying to get to class.
