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Chapter 69 – Arya's POV
"Craving Chaos"
I didn't remember pregnancy being like this.
With Liam, it was gentle. Manageable. I had the occasional craving and the early nausea, sure — but it was never this.
This… monster.
Every morning felt like I had been run over by a truck — a truck that reversed and ran over me again just to make a point.
I would wake up starving, then feel sick at the smell of toast. I'd cry because I couldn't find my slippers, then demand mango slices dipped in peanut butter and ranch dressing five minutes later.
Yes. Peanut butter. Mango. Ranch. Together.
I knew how that sounded.
I also didn't care.
Because in those moments, when my body felt like it had a mind of its own, there was only one thing that made any of it tolerable: Damon.
And somehow, impossibly, he wasn't just tolerating me—
He was thriving in the chaos.
---
This morning, the sun had barely peeked through the curtains when I groaned and flopped dramatically onto my side. My stomach churned like an angry storm, and my mouth felt like I'd chewed sandpaper in my sleep.
"Are you okay?" Damon's sleepy voice mumbled beside me, followed by the familiar sound of him fumbling for the bedside lamp.
"No," I whispered, covering my face with a pillow. "I want ice cream. And hot wings. And I want them together."
He didn't even pause.
"In a bowl or on a plate?" he asked groggily.
I peeked at him. "You're not serious."
"I am," he said, already sitting up. "What kind of wings? Extra spicy or lemon pepper?"
I stared at him, speechless. "You're actually going to do it?"
"Of course," he said, rubbing his eyes with one hand and reaching for his hoodie with the other. "My pregnant queen wants wings and ice cream, she gets wings and ice cream."
I blinked. "I'm pretty sure I love you."
He grinned. "That's the hormones talking."
But even as he said it, he leaned over and kissed my forehead before stumbling out of the bedroom like a half-awake superhero on a mission.
---
By the time he returned, I was sitting cross-legged on the couch in one of his oversized shirts, wrapped in a blanket and alternating between laughter and tears over a baby commercial.
"I just love that the dad was there," I sniffled, wiping my eyes as he set the food down beside me. "He didn't even say anything. He just… held her hand! Isn't that beautiful?"
Damon raised an eyebrow but wisely said nothing as he unboxed the food.
He handed me a bowl with one hand and slid onto the couch with the other, grabbing the remote and placing my feet on his lap like it was second nature.
And just like that… I forgot about the nausea.
Forgot about the mood swings.
Forgot that I hadn't slept more than three hours in two days.
Because he was here.
And for the first time since this pregnancy began, I didn't feel like I was losing control—I felt loved. Completely. Unconditionally.
---
Later that day, after I'd demolished the wings and the ice cream (yes, together), Damon walked into the kitchen and froze.
I was standing in front of the fridge. Crying.
Again.
He moved carefully, like approaching a frightened animal. "Arya… what's wrong?"
I turned to him slowly, clutching a jar of strawberry jam. "We're out of sourdough."
He blinked. "We have four other kinds of bread."
"I don't want four other kinds of bread," I snapped. "I want sourdough, and now the jam is sad because it has no soulmate."
He stared at me for a moment, probably trying to figure out if I was joking.
I wasn't.
Instead of laughing or rolling his eyes, he came over, took the jam gently from my hand, and said, "Come on, let's go buy sourdough. The jam deserves better."
And just like that, I was crying again.
But for a different reason.
"I'm sorry," I sobbed as he pulled me into a hug. "I don't know why I'm like this. It wasn't like this with Liam."
"I know," he murmured, kissing the top of my head. "But this baby's a little extra. That's okay. We can be extra too."
---
That night, as I lay in bed, finally calm, finally full, I stared at the ceiling and whispered into the dark.
"I'm happy."
Damon turned to me, brushing my hair behind my ear. "You are?"
I nodded. "Even with the cravings and the mood swings and the chaos. I'm happy."
He smiled, then pulled me close, resting his hand gently on my belly. "Me too."
I closed my eyes and breathed in the moment — the stillness, the safety, the soft thrum of hope beneath my skin.
This pregnancy was different.
Harder. Wilder.
But this time… I wasn't doing it alone.
And somehow, even through the nausea, the crying fits, and the sandwiches made for six — I was finally starting to believe…
This was exactly how it was meant to be.