Chapter 204: I Am Leaking Again
Morning light spilled softly through the curtains, turning the bedroom warm and pale gold. I was sitting on the bed with my phone in my hand, scrolling through the comments people had left under my post.
All the support was almost overwhelming. It should have been comforting, and it was, but it was also making my chest ache in that strange, tender way pregnancy seemed to do everything lately.
I was four months pregnant now, and I could feel it in every part of my body—the way my belly felt fuller, the way my breasts had grown heavier and more sensitive, the constant emotional pull, the sudden tears, the hunger, and the way even happiness could make me cry.
Some days I felt fine for a moment and then suddenly tired, hot, dizzy, or too emotional to speak.
The comments were too sweet. Too kind. Too much. They kept making my eyes burn, and Hellen, who was standing behind me brushing my hair, noticed immediately. Her fingers moved carefully through the strands, slow and patient, as if she already knew I was on the edge of tears. I sniffed once, still staring at the screen, and she clicked her tongue like she had been expecting exactly this.
The colostrum had started coming in more often now, just enough to stain shirts and remind me that my body was changing whether I liked it or not. It was embarrassing, messy, and somehow deeply personal. Although, I was leaking after pheromone therapy, but this is different.
"Don’t you dare cry looking at the comments," Hellen said, her voice flat but not unkind.
"But it’s making me happy," I muttered, my throat already tightening.
She gave my hair a gentle tug, not enough to hurt, just enough to get my attention. "That is exactly the problem. You cry when you’re sad, and now you cry when you’re happy. At this rate, none of us can tell what emotion is doing what anymore."
I let out a small, watery laugh and wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. "That’s not my fault."
"It absolutely is your fault," she replied. "You read one touching message and suddenly your whole face starts leaking."
I blinked at her, then looked back at the screen. "That is a horrible way to describe it."
"It is also accurate," she said, continuing to brush my hair until it fell neatly over my shoulders. "You are sitting here smiling at strangers and crying over them at the same time. It’s very confusing."
I glanced down at my shirt and sighed, already seeing the damp patch spreading near the front. "And now my shirt is ruined again."
Hellen’s eyes followed mine, and she made a displeased sound. "Your colostrum is leaking through the fabric again?"
"Yes," I said miserably. "It happened this morning too. I changed once already."
"That thin shirt should not even be allowed near your body," she said, reaching for the drawer beside the bed. "You need something proper. Something with support."
"I don’t want to wear those yet," I muttered.
"You don’t want to change, you don’t want to cry, and you don’t want to stop checking comments," she said, sounding entirely too reasonable. "You are impossible."
I hugged my phone closer and frowned at her in wounded offense. "I’m pregnant."
"That explains the crying," she said. "It does not explain the stubbornness."
The room was quiet except for the soft brushing sounds and my occasional sniffle. My body felt strangely full and sensitive, like every emotion was sitting right under my skin.
My breasts ached with that familiar, heavy pressure that came and went throughout the day, and the warm dampness against my shirt made it impossible to ignore the colostrum anymore. My lower back had also been sore lately, especially when I sat too long, and there were moments when I felt a little breathless just from shifting positions.
Some mornings I woke up with an odd heaviness in my hips and a strange stretching sensation in my belly that made me pause before getting out of bed.
"Do I smell like milk?" I asked suddenly, mortified.
Hellen paused for a second, then answered without looking up. "You smell like yourself."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only answer you need." She set the brush aside and leaned over my shoulder to look at the screen. "And stop reading the comments like they are going to hold you together."
I sniffed again. "They are holding me together."
She gave me a long, flat look. "You are sentimental right now."
"I’m not sentimental," I protested, though my voice came out soft and shaky.
"No?" she asked. "Then why are your eyes watering over every other line?"
"Because they’re being nice."
"And that is enough to make you cry?"
I hesitated, then looked down at the phone again. "Yes."
Hellen sighed like she had already lost this argument before it started. "You are hopeless."
I scrolled one more time and nearly lost myself in tears again. There were messages from strangers, from fans, from people who had once judged me and now called me strong, beautiful, and brave.
Some said I was glowing.
Some said my pregnancy was proof that I had finally reached a peaceful part of my life.
Some said they hoped I was being spoiled properly by the five alphas. That one made my mouth twitch, because it was true. I was being spoiled. Overprotected, even. And somehow, that made me cry more.
Hellen saw the look on my face and sighed again. "There. That face. I know that face."
"What face?"
"The one that says you are about to cry again."
"I’m not."
"Yes, you are."
"I’m just happy."
"That counts as crying," she said dryly, reaching for a tissue and pressing it into my hand. "There. Wipe your face before you ruin that pillow too."
I took it and dabbed at my eyes, then my nose, then glanced down again at the wet patch on my shirt with open despair. "This is awful."
"It is not awful," Hellen said. "It is inconvenient."
"That is such a cold way to describe my suffering."
"You are not suffering," she said, tugging gently at my shoulder so I would face her. "You are being dramatic."
"I am pregnant," I repeated, as if that explained everything.
"It explains a great deal," she said. "It does not excuse everything."
Despite myself, I laughed, and this time the laugh turned into a shaky little breath that made my eyes sting all over again. Hellen clicked her tongue like she had personally been defeated by my emotions, but her hand stayed in my hair, steady and careful.
"I’m sorry," Hellen said softly, her expression gentling at once. "It’s just... I can’t be intimate with you right now, and seeing all this milk spill without being able to do anything about it is making me frustrated."
She leaned in and kissed my forehead, her lips warm and careful against my skin. "I’m really sorry for that. You don’t have any control over this, and you’re carrying our baby. At the very least, we should be helping you, not scolding you."
My face went hot at once. "You are such a pervert."
Hellen blinked, then let out a low laugh, clearly amused by my accusation. "And yet you are the one making me blush now."
I looked away, still red-faced, while she reached for a clean cloth to help me wipe away the leaking colostrum with unusual tenderness. Her earlier annoyance was gone, replaced by quiet affection and a kind of protective embarrassment that somehow made the whole moment feel even more intimate.
