Page 13 of Say You're Mine

"Then they can keep him locked away without anyone asking too many questions," I finish, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. "Oh my God."

The baby kicks, a sharp reminder of what's really at stake here. I press a hand to my stomach, trying to calm the sudden surge of protective fury that wells up inside me.

"We need proof," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "If we're going to accuse Elaine Deveaux of something like this, we need rock-solid evidence."

Song nods, his expression set with determination. "Leave that to me. I've got some contacts in the medical field who might be able to help. Discreetly, of course."

Louis raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. "Do I want to know how you've acquired these contacts?"

My brother grins, some of his usual mischief returning. "Probably not. Plausible deniability and all that."

Despite everything, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. "You two are ridiculous, you know that?"

"Yeah, but you love us anyway," Song says, reaching out to ruffle my hair affectionately.

I swat his hand away, but there's no real annoyance behind the gesture. "God help me, I do."

Sonya stands, brushing off her jeans with a determined air. "Alright, enough moping. We came here to shop for my future niece or nephew, and that's exactly what we're going to do. Elaine Deveaux and her schemes be damned."

I hesitate, the memory of our confrontation still fresh and raw. "I don't know, Sonya. Maybe we should call it a day. I'm not sure I'm up for--"

"Nope," she cuts me off, pulling me to my feet with gentle insistence. "We are not letting that woman ruin this for you. For us. This is supposed to be a happy time, dammit, and I'll be damned if I let Elaine fucking Deveaux steal that joy."

I look around at their faces - Sonya's fierce determination, Song's protective loyalty, Louis's unwavering support - and feel something inside me settle. They're right. I can't let Elaine win, can't let her poison this precious time.

"Okay," I say, squaring my shoulders. "Let's do this."

We head back into the store, a united front against whatever the world - or Elaine Deveaux - might throw at us. And as we browse through tiny clothes and impossibly small shoes, I feel a spark of something I haven't felt in far too long.

Hope.

It's fragile, barely more than a whisper in the back of my mind. But it's there, growing stronger with each shared laugh, each excited exclamation over a particularly cute onesie or cleverly designed toy.

I don't know what the future holds. I don't know if we'll be able to prove Amethyst's deception, or if we'll ever be able to bring June home.

But I do know this: I am not alone. I have a family, a support system that will move heaven and earth to protect me and this baby. And maybe, we just might be strong enough to take on Elaine Deveaux and her whole damn empire.

As we leave the store, arms laden with bags full of tiny clothes and impossibly soft blankets, I feel a sense of purpose settling over me. A steely resolve that straightens my spine and lifts my chin.

Watch out, Elaine. You might think you've won, but you have no idea what you're up against. Because I'm not just fighting for myself anymore. I'm fighting for my child, for June, for the future we deserve.

And I will not rest until we're all free from your poisonous influence, once and for all.

The sun is setting as we make our way back to my apartment, casting long shadows across the bustling city streets. I'm exhausted, emotionally and physically drained, but there's an undercurrent of excitement thrumming through me.

We've taken the first step. We've refused to be cowed by Elaine's threats, refused to let her steal the joy of this pregnancy. It's a small victory, but it feels monumental.

As we pile into my modest living room, dropping bags and collapsing onto various surfaces with exaggerated groans, I can't help but smile. This is my family. My weird, wonderful, fiercely loyal family.

"Alright," Sonya announces, clapping her hands together. "I say we order in, crack open a bottle of sparkling cider for the mama-to-be, and start sorting through all this loot. Who's with me?"

There's a chorus of enthusiastic agreement, and soon we're sprawled across the floor, surrounded by tiny clothes and impossibly soft stuffed animals. Louis is on the phone ordering enough Chinese food to feed a small army, while Song entertains us with increasingly ridiculous baby name suggestions.

"Ooh, how about Bartholomew?" he says, grinning wickedly. "Barty for short. It's got a real sophisticated ring to it, don't you think?"

I roll my eyes, chucking a stuffed giraffe at his head. "Absolutely not. I'm not saddling my kid with a name like Bartholomew. They'll never forgive me."

"Spoilsport," he pouts, but his eyes are dancing with mirth. "Fine, what about... Persephone? It's got that whole mythological vibe going for it."

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