The door creaked.
She heard it.
Her body stiffened like she'd been shot.
Eyes wide. Breath caught. That split-second recognition of danger—not me—but a sound, an opening, an approach.
The glass slipped.
It hit the floor with a shattering crash, fragments scattering across the tiles like startled birds.
She gasped sharply, recoiling instinctively toward the bed’s corner, her breathing suddenly ragged, frantic. One hand clutching the blanket like a shield, the other curled against her chest as if to protect the child within her.
“Hey—hey,” I stepped forward instantly, voice low, palms open, “It’s me. Saajh… it’s just me.”
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