Four months.
Four months passed.
For most people, it flew by.
For Damon and Svetlana, it moved with weight, every week marked by change, discomfort, and subtle emotional pressure that built and built.
This wasn't fight camp pressure. This was different. Real life pressure. The kind that followed you home, lay beside you at night, and whispered in your ear even when everything looked fine.
Svetlana was seven months pregnant now. And while she was healthy and strong, it didn't mean things were easy.
Damon had never loved her more, and he told her often, even when he felt like a broken record repeating the same three words.
But no amount of love stopped the worries from creeping in. Not when he saw her wince just trying to roll out of bed. Not when he noticed how swollen her ankles were, or how she tried to act like she wasn't in pain when she stood too long.
He tried his best to help. To be there.
But that didn't erase his doubts.
