"Strings Between Us

"Safe Spaces

Isadora’s POV | Berlin, Germany – January 2006

The snow had started to melt just outside the penthouse windows, leaving behind slushy sidewalks and a chill in the air that even the thickest hoodie couldn’t block out.

I sat curled up in the corner of the sectional sofa, one of Tom’s oversized flannels draped over my shoulders. My fingers rested lightly over my stomach, where everything was still so small, invisible even—but I could feel it. Like the tiniest heartbeat echoing in mine.

The house was quiet except for the low hum of the heater and Tom’s guitar noodling from the other room. He hadn’t even realized he’d started playing again, the sound comforting and familiar, like background music in a movie we were accidentally starring in.

My phone buzzed in my lap. I glanced down at the screen and saw the name that always made me sit up straight, no matter how old I got:
Mãe ❤️

I answered quickly. “Oi, mãe…”

“Oi, filha.” Her voice was soft but thick with concern. “I’ve been waiting for you to call me. I saw the blogs this morning.”

Of course she had. It was everywhere—speculation, rumors, even a blurry picture of me and Tom walking out of the clinic. My name trending for the wrong reasons again.

“I was going to call tonight,” I said gently. “I just didn’t want to worry you.”

“You already told me the truth, Isa. That’s what matters. I just wanted to hear your voice.” She paused. “Are you okay?”

I hesitated. I looked down at the flannel, at the necklace Tom gave me months ago that still hung around my neck. I thought about how careful he’d been lately—his hands on my back, his eyes flicking to me every five minutes, like he was scared I’d break.

“I’m… okay,” I said finally. “Tired. But okay.”

She sighed. “You sound older already.”

I smiled sadly. “Maybe I feel older.”

Then came the real question, the one I’d been expecting since I told her I was pregnant.

“Does he make you feel safe?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah, he does. It’s not always easy, you know? With everything going on, and the media, and the pressure—but Tom… he tries. He really tries.”

There was silence on the line for a second.

“Then that’s what matters. Not what strangers think, not what the press writes. What matters is that you’re supported. That you’re loved.” She took a breath, her voice thickening. “I just want you to be careful, Isa. This is a big change. It’s okay to be scared.”

I felt my eyes sting. “I am. But I’m not alone.”

A knock at the doorframe made me glance up. Tom stood there, messy hair, hoodie half on, holding a mug of tea in one hand. His gaze softened when our eyes met.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You good?”

I nodded and waved him in. He came to sit beside me, wrapping the blanket around us both as I leaned against his chest.

“I have to go, mãe,” I murmured into the phone. “Tom brought me tea.”

“Awn, sweet boy,” she teased, though I could hear her smiling. “Call me tomorrow. I want updates on my grandchildren.”

I giggled softly. “Of course.”

We hung up, and I tucked my phone away. Tom didn’t say anything at first, just placed a hand over mine where it lay on my belly.

“Your mom okay?” he asked.

“She’s being brave for me. Like I’m trying to be for this… us.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine. “We’ll figure it out. All of it.”

And somehow, with the warmth of his breath on my skin, the quiet hum of his heartbeat behind my ear—I believed him.