Chapter 865: Linda’s Pregnancy Signs and Symptoms The grocery store was obscene. That was the only word Jasmine Carter could find for it. Obscene. Rows upon rows of organic produce that looked like it had been individually polished by angels. Cheese displays that belonged in museums. A wine section that probably required a second mortgage just to browse. "Linda." Jasmine stopped in front of a pyramid of imported Italian tomatoes, each one priced at what she used to spend on a week’s worth of vegetables. "These tomatoes have names. Individual names. On little cards." "San Marzano," Linda said absently, pushing their cart forward. "They’re good for sauce." "They’re eight dollars each." "Get a few." Jasmine stared at her sister. Six months ago, Linda had been clipping coupons and calculating unit prices like it was a competitive sport. She used to know which grocery store had the cheapest eggs by memory. Now she was casually approving eight-dollar tomatoes like they were breath mints. "Who are you," Jasmine whispered, "and what have you done with my sister?" Linda didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. She just gripped the cart handle a little tighter and kept walking. Jasmine frowned. Something was off. She’d noticed it in the car on the way here—the way Linda had gone pale at the smell of Jasmine’s coffee. The way she’d rolled down the window despite the air conditioning. The way her hands had trembled on the steering wheel like the effort of holding steady was costing her something. Now, under the sterile grocery-store lights, Linda looked... wrong. Not sick enough to collapse, not healthy enough to pretend. Her skin had a dull cast to it, and twice Jasmine had caught her pressing a hand to her stomach, her mouth tightening as if she was swallowing something unpleasant. "Hey." Jasmine caught up, falling into step beside her. "You okay?" "Fine." "You don’t look fine." "I’m fine, Jazz." The sharpness in Linda’s voice made Jasmine blink. Linda didn’t snap. Linda was the calm one. The steady one. The nurse who could handle twelve hours of chaos and blood and grief and still come home gentle. "Okay," Jasmine said slowly. "Okay. Sorry." They walked in silence for a moment. Linda steered them toward the dairy section like it was a mission, her jaw clenched, her breathing just a little too shallow. A soft voice murmured in Linda’s ear through the nearly invisible earpiece she wore. "Linda. Your heart rate has been elevated for the past forty-seven minutes. Your body temperature is fluctuating. I’m detecting traces of nausea in your biometric patterns." Linda’s fingers tightened around the cart handle. "Should I inform Peter?" She didn’t answer. She couldn’t—not with Jasmine right there. But her hand flexed once, a subtle signal. The voice paused. ARIA understood. She always understood. Silence followed, but it wasn’t empty. Linda could still feel the weight of her presence, that quiet watchfulness that never truly left. The women called her Guardian Angel. Always there. Always monitoring. Always keeping them safe when Peter wasn’t physically nearby. And now ARIA had a body. The thought alone made something uneasy crawl down Linda’s spine. Comforting and terrifying, all at once. "Oh my God." Jasmine’s voice yanked her back into the moment. She’d stopped in front of the cheese display, staring at a massive wheel of something aged and Italian like it belonged in a cathedral. "Linda. Linda, look at this. This cheese is older than all my relationships combined ever were." Despite everything, Linda’s lips twitched. "That’s not saying much." "Rude." Jasmine grinned, running her fingers over the price tag. Her eyes were bright with the kind of wonder that only came from touching luxury for the first time. "Three hundred dollars. For cheese. This is insane. This whole store is insane. Your life is insane." "Tell me about it." "No, seriously." Jasmine turned to face her, voice dropping into something softer, almost reverent. "Six months ago, you were working doubles just to keep the lights on. Now you’re shopping at places that have cheese sommeliers. Cheese sommeliers, Linda. That’s a real job here. I asked." Linda watched her sister soak it in—the abundance, the security, the feeling of being able to breathe without counting pennies. Jasmine looked like someone who’d been starving and had just been handed a feast. This was why Linda had brought her. To share it. To let her taste the safety of a life where emergencies didn’t mean disaster. But Linda couldn’t enjoy it. Not today. Not with her stomach rolling and her skin prickling and that strange heaviness in her body that felt like it had been building for days. "Linda." ARIA’s voice was gentler now. Almost careful. "I’ve been analyzing your symptoms. The nausea. The fatigue. The sensitivity to smells. The slight elevation in your basal body temperature." Linda’s grip slipped on the cart handle for half a second. ARIA continued, voice steady—too calm for what she was about to say. "I have a hypothesis. But I need to ask—what happened to you menstrual cycle it was supposed to happened yesterday?" The world shifted. The bright grocery store, the polished fruit, the laughter in Jasmine’s voice—it all blurred at the edges like someone had turned down the volume on reality. Linda’s throat tightened. She didn’t answer, but numbers started moving in her head anyway. Days. Weeks. A calendar she hadn’t checked because she hadn’t needed to. It was supposed to be yesterday morning. Her pulse kicked hard. The earpiece spoke again, blunt as a blade. "Linda, I suggest you purchase a pregnancy test." Everything inside her went still. Linda reached out and grabbed the edge of a refrigerated display case like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Cold metal bit into her palm. Her knuckles turned white. "Linda?" Jasmine was beside her instantly, hands on her arm. "Hey, hey—what’s wrong? You just went completely pale." "I’m fine." The words came out automatically, practiced. A lie that tasted like paper. "Just... stood up too fast." "You were already standing." "Low blood sugar." Linda swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. "I need to... I need to sit down for a second." Jasmine didn’t argue. She guided her toward a bench near the store café, fussing in that way younger sisters did when they finally got the chance to be the caretaker. Linda let herself be led. The cart sat abandoned beside the cheese display like a forgotten prop in someone else’s life. Her ears rang. Her stomach churned. And that single word echoed in her head—not as a thought she chose, but as a fact her body was already whispering to her. Pregnant. She might be pregnant. The symptoms had been there. All of them. The morning nausea she’d blamed on stress. The exhaustion she’d chalked up to getting older. The way certain smells—coffee, perfume, cooking oil—made her stomach revolt like it had suddenly developed standards. And the worst part? Linda had been a nurse for over two decades. She’d seen these signs in hundreds of patients. She’d watched women come in with the same complaints, the same confusion, the same nervous laughter. How had she missed them in herself? The answer came anyway, quiet and merciless. Denial. Not a thought she chose. Not something she wanted to admit. Just a truth that settled in her chest like a weight. She’d missed them because she hadn’t wanted to see them. If she was pregnant, there was only one person who could be the father. Peter. Her adopted son.