THE NEXT MORNING, TO NO ONE'S surprise, the first stop of my morning—was the toilet. This time, ten times worst than the last.

It had been almost noon and I'd just now been waking up but Eliot was in the process of making breakfast.

I could hear Janus's babbling from the next room over but the sound didn't last long because I'd then begun throwing up.

The vomit against the walls of my throat felt like acid burning through and it was something I hadn't missed at all from being pregnant with Janus.

The doors in this penthouse didn't squeak the way my old apartment's did, which is why when Eliot appeared beside me, I nearly jumped out of my body from unexpected fear.

Two big hands gently tuck the strands of hair falling over my face out and into a ponytail he secured with his hand.

Eliot didn't even bat an eyelash. He just waited there patiently, watching over me with care as if this was something he'd anticipated.

And if I weren't so drunk last night, I'd anticipate it too. But what happened last night was something I could never speak into existence again.

I roll over, leaning my back against the counter's wall with my head in my hands as Eliot rubbed small circles over my back.

"Maybe it's a sign," he says, laughter hinted in his voice.

I looked up at him with a curious gaze, unaware of what he's implying.

He has this soft, bashful smile on his face and I don't think he intended for it to be as comforting as it is.

"To not drink so much." He finishes his sentence, causing me to roll my eyes as I hide my face back in between my hands.

A loose laugh slips past his lips as he leans down to press a soft kiss to the top of my head. "I'm making French Toast. Come out when you're ready."

He closed the door quietly behind him, knowing my head would likely be pounding and my ears would be ringing soon.

But there was no possible way the ringing could be any louder than the voices in my head telling me how awful of a person I am for last night, or as painful as the guilt consuming me.