The days passed gently.
Nora spent her mornings tending the garden, her afternoons sweeping dust from the wooden eaves. Uncle John helped repair the broken gate, while Aunt Maria fussed over her like a long-lost niece.
Under their guidance, she planted scallions, spinach, and tomatoes. She got blisters. She got muddy. But when the first shoots broke through the soil, she smiled.
One dusky afternoon, while tying up a tomato vine, she felt something flutter low in her belly.
She froze.
It felt like a goldfish brushing against her palm—soft and shy.
"Aunt Maria," she called, wide-eyed. "He moved."
The older woman looked up from the basket of beans she was shelling. Her expression softened with understanding.
"That's your baby saying hello."
Nora pressed her hands to her belly, overwhelmed.
She hadn't planned for this child. She hadn't even chosen this life. But in that moment, she knew—she would protect him with everything she had.
This wasn't a punishment.
It was a beginning.