"No, thanks," Manuel refused, remaining in the wheelchair, delaying his move to the sofa until Susan returned to her room.

Susan, inexplicably irritated, dropped the mop and stormed toward Manuel. He stared at her as she pushed him into the bedroom and slammed the door. Silence fell.

"Can you help yourself to the bed?" Susan asked, her question more a directive than an inquiry.

Manuel nodded.

"Then hurry up and let me sleep," Susan said, settling onto the bed, leaving space for him, though turning her back.

Manuel watched, astonished. He'd expected her to take the sofa, but she was in his bed. He suppressed his excitement and carefully climbed onto the bed.

They shared a single duvet. His slight shift toward Susan instinctively pushed her further away. He dared not move closer, fearing he'd dislodge her. A considerable distance separated them, enough for comfortable rest. Silence filled the room.

A quiet night for slumber, it should have been. But Manuel's heart burned with longing. Susan, exhausted from the evening's events, quickly fell asleep. She'd braced herself for a sleepless night, but she underestimated her fatigue.

Susan slept soundly, oblivious to Manuel's proximity, unaware that he'd gently repositioned her from the edge of the bed. A warm hand rested on her lower abdomen.

Dawn arrived. Morning sickness woke Susan. She started toward the bathroom, then froze, shocked by the sight beneath the duvet. A man lay beside her; her leg was draped across his waist, her head resting on his arm. Had they been…intimate?

"Damn it!"

She scrambled out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, overcome by violent vomiting. Manuel awoke to her sounds of distress. He rose, went to the wheelchair, and wheeled himself to the bathroom.

Kneeling by the toilet, Susan vomited uncontrollably. Manuel sat quietly beside her. Eventually, she recovered slightly, staggering to the sink to gargle, but the action triggered another retch.

"Do I make you sick?" Manuel asked, standing behind her.

Susan, viewing him in the mirror, replied, "True. Seeing you is the first thing that made me sick this morning."

"I doubt you have any common sense," Susan snapped, leaving the bathroom. "This is morning sickness," she added angrily. "Who do you think you are?"

Manuel was speechless.

"Leave me alone!"

Whenever she attempted kindness, anger erupted. She was weary of this oscillation between fury and compassion. How did he manage to evoke both?

Susan, still angry, finished washing and went to breakfast. Tia had prepared the meal; Justine, since learning of the pregnancy, had been assisting.

"Morning, Ms. Phillips. Breakfast is ready," Tia said.

"Call her Mrs. Johnson," Justine corrected sharply.

Tia glanced at Susan before complying.

"No! Call me what you did before!" Susan protested.

Justine retorted, "How can you endure the embarrassment of being called Ms. Phillips when you're married and pregnant? A stranger would assume you're a single mother."

"Mrs. Johnson," Tia repeated cautiously.

Susan's fury threatened to consume her. Justine's presence felt increasingly menacing. She turned to leave.

"Time for breakfast," Justine said, "I know you missed meat buns, so Tia made some."

Susan paused. Pregnancy's intense appetite warred with the nausea. The buns held appeal. Swallowing her anger, she sat and ate.

Breakfast was a new habit, driven by the baby's demands. She devoured a bun.

"Delicious!"

Others joined her at the table.

"What a sweet home!" Susan thought, although her sweetness was tinged with irritation. Quickly finishing, she left abruptly, locking herself in the bedroom.

"Ms. Phillips... I apologize. Mrs. Johnson is…a child who doesn't hide her emotions," Tia smiled, watching Susan depart.

"So, obey her," Justine instructed.

Tia was stunned; Justine was the last person who'd show deference to Susan.

"Ensure the chicken soup at noon is oil-free; oily smells trigger morning sickness," Justine ordered.

"Yes, my Lady," Tia replied.

Justine cared for Susan, despite her unsmiling demeanor. She'd risen at 5:00 AM to help make the buns. A complex, love-hate relationship, perhaps.

Back in her room, Susan lay on the bed, annoyed. Oddly, her stomach felt better after arguing with Justine.

"Damn it. Stockholm Syndrome?"

She opened her phone, intending to play a game, when it rang. It was Henry.