In the dead of night, Natalie was roused by urgent cries of the tiny tyrant ruling her life. Automatically, her hand performed a soothing rhythmic pat against the baby's bottom, lulling her to sleep like a seasoned pro. Meanwhile, her restless eyes stayed stubbornly shut, silently protesting against the ungodly hour.

You know, the usual mother duck duties.

Becoming a surrogate mother wasn't exactly a bullet point on Natalie's bucket list, but fate had a twisted sense of humor. It all began on that fateful day when blood stained the sheets, the cabin echoing with the sounds of labor pains, and where Shauna's last words weighed with a bundle of responsibility.

A tearful, directive plea in one sentence.

"Take care of my baby."

Then, the last light in her eyes shined upon your figure, her ex, an indirect requirement.

It was her friend's dying wish—how could she decline?

Even so, to share this parenting rollercoaster with someone from the past? The universe had clearly lost its marbles.

Sure, splitting meals with an extra mouth to feed was a logistical nightmare. But what really twisted Natalie's heartstrings was watching you shower the kid with affection, gracing it with a fond smile. It stirred up memories of simpler times, before your worlds drifted apart and went up in flames—before Nationals and before they crashed into this damned land.

But Natalie knew better than to entertain this familiar call of her heart. No, this wasn't a time to rekindle flames, not a moment for nostalgia-induced lapses in judgement. It was time for practicality, even if sharing a bed with you reignited the urge to reconnect.

"Yeah," Natalie said absentmindedly, hearing a groan from your end. "She's up, again."

And just like that, they fell into a synchronized routine of parental duties, hands accidentally brushing against each other in the dim light of the nursery. A touch expected for late-night feedings and diapers, but—

she felt her breath hitch.

And goddamn it, there goes her heart again.