Page 79 of Silence and Surrender

I made it to the bathroom just in time, emptying my stomach as quietly as possible. The tile was cool against my forehead as I knelt there, trying to control my shaking.

“Not yet,” I whispered to my treacherous body. “Please. Not yet.”

A soft knock made me freeze. “Isabella?” Allegra’s voice. “I brought some tea.”

Of course she knew. She’d probably been watching, counting symptoms like she counted everything else.

“Come in.”

She entered with her usual quiet grace, setting a steaming cup beside me. Ginger tea, I noted. Good for nausea.

“The symptoms usually ease by twelve weeks,” she said carefully, sitting on the edge of the tub. “Though everyone’s different.”

I closed my eyes, not ready for this conversation. Not ready to face what we both knew.

“It might not be that,” I managed. “Stress. Recovery. Training.”

“True.” She didn’t push, just offered a cool cloth for my face. “But if it is...”

“I can’t.” My voice broke. “Not yet. Not until I’m stronger.”

“Honey.” So much understanding in that word. “You’re already strong. Strong enough to survive. Strong enough to fight back. Strong enough to face whatever comes next.”

I took the cloth she offered, pressing it against my burning eyes. “Colton—”

“Will support you. No matter what.” She touched my shoulder. “You know that.”

“Do I?” The words escaped before I could stop them. “After what they did to me? After what might have happened in those blank hours?”

“Yes.” No hesitation in her voice. “Because he loves you. All of you. Even the parts you think are broken.”

Fresh tears threatened to fall. “Does he? How can he? We hated each other before we started investigating…and…I’m ruined now.”

Allegra looked at me, eyes heavy with sadness. “You’re not ruined, Isabella. And Colton—I think he does love you. Even before you were taken, he’d said things to Cooper…” she trailed off, handing me another washcloth to wipe my face.

“When did you know? With Clara?”

“Six weeks.” Her smile was soft with memory. “I told Cooper during Christmas that year. He said I was glowing.”

“I’m not glowing.” I gestured to my sweaty training clothes, my trembling hands. “I’m falling apart.”

“No.” Her tone was stern, but loving. “You’re putting yourself back together. Different, maybe. Stronger, definitely. But not broken.”

The tea was perfect—just hot enough to sip, just sweet enough to settle my stomach. Of course it was. Allegra did everything with love in her heart.

“How long?” she asked after a while. “Until you need to know for sure?”

I counted days in my head. Between the tunnels and cells. Between capture and rescue. Between now and my last cycle.

“Soon,” I admitted. “A few more days and it will be obvious. One way or another.”

She nodded, understanding what I wasn’t saying. The fear. The uncertainty. The terror of not knowing whose child might be growing inside me.

“Whatever happens,” she said softly, “you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

We sat in comfortable silence until my stomach settled. Until I could stand without shaking. Until I felt almost human again.

“Rest today,” she said as I prepared to leave. “Real rest, not just pretending while you study combat videos.”

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