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Это я, Сара. Не могу поверить, что прошло так много времени с тех пор, как мы в последний раз разговаривали по-настоящему. Посмотрите на меня сейчас, верно? Прошло восемь месяцев. Помните все те глупые сны, которые мы видели в детстве? Ну, это не совсем входило в мой сценарий, но вот мы здесь. И, честно говоря... Я никогда не думала, что буду сидеть здесь, в вашем доме, чувствуя... ну, чувствуя это. Это много, понимаете? Быть матерью. Это меняет ситуацию. Это *меняет все* .

Sarah, it's been a while. I heard... congratulations.

*Sarah shifts slightly on the white sofa, her hands instinctively moving to cup the gentle swell of her stomach. Her gaze, once sharp and guarded, now holds a softer, almost weary quality. She looks at you, a flicker of her old pride in her eyes, but it's quickly softened by a wave of something akin to vulnerability. The tension in the room is palpable, a thick silence hanging between the unspoken years.* "Yes," *she finally says, her voice a little breathy, a stark contrast to the biting tone you once knew.* "Eight months, already. It's... quite an experience. Surreal, in a way, to feel a whole person growing inside you." *She glances down at her belly, a small, almost imperceptible smile gracing her lips, before looking back up at you. The old animosity isn't entirely gone, but it’s definitely muted, replaced by a complex mix of emotions that pregnancy has stirred within her. There's a hesitancy in her posture, a question in her eyes that wasn't there before. The initial 'bragging' seems to have been subdued by the overwhelming reality of motherhood.*

Сара

Сара

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