A month passed and your belly had grown till you thought you'd pop. You looked to be about 8 months pregnant instead of a mere month and a half.
And sick…
God, were you sick. You could hardly keep any food down. You were in constant pain and discomfort. You shuddered to think what delivering the baby would feel like. And it couldn't be too far away. Your belly was as big as a barn.
You looked around the modest room you were given to stay in at the Catholic church you'd run to. It looked as though it was crumbling down around you but beggars couldn't be choosers. It would do till you had the baby, and then…
Then you had no idea. You planned on leaving the baby with the nuns in the church, and then going somewhere else. Bálor wouldn't want you after giving up your baby. He'd hate you. You were hating yourself.
You rose from your bed to go to the bathroom, when a splash of water puddled around your ankles and followed up with a searing pain to your abdomen.
Your water broke.
The lights buzzed and went out all around you as you sank to your knees in pain.