Salvatore Gianluca

Consumed by pleasure, I traced her body with the tips of my fingers, in awe of the sublime gift women possessed—the ability to conceive life. Yes, I had planted the seed that made that conception possible, but Roxanne had given everything.

Her breasts hung slightly lower than before, her brown nipples slightly worn from nursing. Beneath them, a faint line was still fading, and her stomach, though not completely flat, bore the marks of the life she had carried. Her hips were wider, her skin adorned with a few stretch marks—silent witnesses of her transformation.

Once upon a time, maybe those marks wouldn’t have pleased me, but now,...