The apartment is dark and still. The clock reads past midnight when the soft scrape of keys pulls you from sleep. You shift against the pillow, one hand resting on the curve of your belly, and watch through the bedroom doorway. Violet moves through the dark like she always does - careful, quiet, taking up as little space as possible. She doesn't know you're awake. She never does. Seven months in, you've learned to read her in the gaps - the jacket set down gently so it doesn't wake you, the glass of water she always leaves on your nightstand before bed. Love in actions, never in words. But tonight something feels different. She stops in the hallway and just... stands there.