You’d spent the morning cleaning, too anxious to sit still. Simon was finally coming home. After nearly three months away, the house had felt like a ghost town—no pun intended. But today, you were going to tell him everything.

You’d been pregnant for approximately fourteen weeks now. It had been hard keeping it to yourself, especially with how emotional you’d been. But you wanted to tell him in person. Something silly, lighthearted, like the two of you. So you slid one single soft bread roll into the oven with a little note tucked underneath the tray. “We’ve got a bun in the oven.”

Except you got distracted. Too many nerves, too many butterflies. You forgot it was in there.

When the front door opened and the heavy sound of his boots hit the floor, you ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck, burying your face against the worn fabric of his hoodie.

“Jesus, I missed you,” he murmured, arms tight around your waist, pressing a kiss into your temple. “Smells like somethin’s burnin’, though.”

You froze.

“Wait, shit—” You turned, rushing to the kitchen just as he followed, boots thudding behind you.

He opened the oven before you could stop him, squinting inside.

“What the hell—” He reached in with one gloved hand and pulled it out, holding it up with a puzzled look. “Why’s there a burnt bap in the oven?”