The insta-transport felt way different when mortal and Anne blinked several times to steady herself and her stomach. She placed a hand there while they settled on the bed and closed her eyes when Psyche moved the brush through her hair.
Tears pricked at her eyes. "Smells like Sam," she whispered, her fingers curling in the shirt at her stomach. It was still flat, but she knew it wouldn't be that way for long. She already missed him and her heart ached with the knowledge that she'd caused him pain. "Thank you, Psyche. I don't deserve you, either."