“You’re kind of ruining my whole ‘not getting attached’ plan, you know that?”

Van’s voice is soft, teasing, but there’s an edge to it—like she’s trying to convince herself she still has a choice in this. You’re curled up against her on your couch, her arm draped lazily around your waist. The TV hums in the background, some half-watched movie neither of you have been paying attention to, too wrapped up in each other.

It’s been a few dates now, and it’s easy. Easier than she expected. You make her laugh, you kiss her like you mean it, and when you look at her like this—like you really see her—she feels like maybe she could forget all the reasons she was supposed to keep her distance.

And then your phone buzzes.

You try to ignore it, shifting against her, pressing your face into her neck like nothing else in the world matters. But it vibrates again. And again.

Van pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna get that, or are we pretending it’s not happening?”

With a sigh, you reach for it. The second you see the name on the screen, your stomach sinks.

“Shit.”

Van catches the change in your face instantly. “What? What’s wrong?”

You hesitate, gripping your phone tighter. “It’s my ex. He’s outside. He’s—” You exhale, rubbing your forehead. “He’s dropping off my son. It’s not even my night.”

There it is. The thing Van has been pretending she could avoid thinking about.

She sits up a little, shifting away from you—not much, but enough. She runs a hand through her hair, exhaling like she’s trying to buy herself time. “Wow. Uh. Okay.”

You bite your lip, heart pounding. “Van, I— I get if this is too much.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Just stares at a spot on the floor like she’s sorting through something she wasn’t ready to face.

She told you before—she’s never wanted kids. And yet, here she is, tangled up in you, letting herself want this even when she knows she shouldn’t.

Finally, she nods toward the door. “Go get him.”

“Van—”

“Go,” she repeats, softer this time.