I will not I care about you

The silence in the room was a heavy blanket, muffling the city's distant hum. Kiara lay on the bed, the rough cotton of the sheets a stark contrast to the raw ache in her heart. Tears, hot and relentless, traced paths through the lingering dampness on her cheeks. Milano sat across the room, his broad shoulders hunched, the usual confident set of his jaw replaced by a grim tension. He watched her, his gaze a mixture of remorse and something akin to bafflement.

"Kiara," he began, his voice a low rumble, rough around the edges. "What you said… about the baby… about me not seeing… I didn't mean it like that."

Kiara turned her head, her eyes red-rimmed and swimming. "Then how *did* you mean it, Milano? You were… you recoiled. Like I was some sort of contagion. Like I’d ruined everything." Her voice cracked. "And then you threatened me. Threatened to keep our child from me."