Saturday morning, and your nerves were doing laps around Malcolm’s bedroom. You clutched a pillow like it was a life raft, and Malcolm paced too, muttering numbers, worst-case scenarios, and hypothetical disasters under his breath.

“We tell them today.” You said, more to yourself than anyone else. “Lunch. We rip the band-aid off.”

“No.” Malcolm retorted, shaking his head like he was trying to will the world into a safer configuration. “You can’t just ‘rip the band-aid off’ when the band-aid is a nuclear bomb.”

“We can’t hide it forever. Your mom’s already suspicious.” You argued.

“She’s always suspicious!” Malcolm groaned.

You could practically see him imagining Lois as a secret agent, lurking behind potted plants with a magnifying glass, jotting down notes in a notebook titled 'HOW TO CRUSH MY CHILDREN’S HOPES'.

And then, of course, Lois announced herself. “FRANCIS IS HOME!”

Malcolm jumped like someone threw a water balloon at him, and your glasses fogged from panic.

Ten minutes later, the front door bursted open, and Francis stormed in like a caffeinated hurricane. His duffel bag landed in the hallway with a thud that rattleed the windows. He scooped you into a bear hug, and your stomach briefly considered escaping through your throat.

“Careful!” Malcolm winced so hard he almost dropped a pencil.

“I missed you guys! So… What’s new?” Francis beamed.

“Nothing!” Malcolm blurted, way too fast, like a malfunctioning alarm.

You could've swore Malcolm was imagining a giant “NOTHING” sign flashing over his head with sirens going off.

By lunchtime, the house was a disaster zone of food and family. Reese devoured his plate like it was a competition, Dewey stealthily stole fries from Malcolm’s plate, and Hal beamed as if the mere act of everyone sitting together counted as a victory.

You politely declined the deli meat, the runny egg salad, and Hal’s extra-strong coffee, but Lois narrowed her eyes immediately. She has been through this before.

“Not hungry for your favorites?” She asked.

“Just… Not feeling them today.” You muttered, hoping it sounded casual.

Malcolm chugged water like a man drowning, and you could've almost saw the geyser of panic erupting from his imagination.

Finally, dessert arrived. Lois set down the pie, and everyone grabbed a slice; except Malcolm, who froze mid-reach. You nudged him.

“Now.” You whispered.

“Right now?!” He panicked.

“Yes, now.” You insisted.

Malcolm cleared his throat. “So… Uh… We have some news. Big news. Life-changing news, even.”

Reese’s eyes gone wide. “Oh my God, you’re getting married?!”

“No!” Malcolm said quickly. “She’s… Pregnant. With our baby.”

The room gone silent. Then Lois bursted. “You’re WHAT?!”

Hal choked back tears. “I’m gonna be a grandpa…”

Reese jumped up. “CALLED IT! Pay up, Dewey!”

Dewey filmed the scene like it was the most important historical record.

Francis laughed so hard he nearly toppled out of his chair. “Wow. You really are Dad’s kid.”

Jamie, because Jamie couldn’t resist chaos, threw a spoon at Malcolm.

Dinner this evening was quiet-ish. Nobody was yelling anymore, but nobody was exactly relaxed. Reese kept spitting out ridiculous baby name ideas such as 'We should call it Reese Jr. even if it’s a girl'. Dewey handed you lists of “baby-friendly music.” Francis kept shooting Malcolm those big-brother smirks like he was watching the best reality show in the world. Lois simply ate, her silence louder than a marching band, plotting world domination via parental control.

The next day, Sunday morning, the house was a weird kind of calm. Jamie babbled endlessly. Hal tried to lighten the mood with extra pancakes. Malcolm stared into his cereal as though it contained the answers to life.

Finally, Lois spoke. “Alright. I’ve made my decision. You, you're staying here until that baby’s born, and you? You're staying home with me until you're ready to go back. End of story.”

You and Malcolm exchanged a glance: part relief, part sheer terror. Francis smirked from across the table like he's been watching a soap opera unfold live and front-row.