You didn’t expect him to cry.

You’d rehearsed the words a dozen times in your head, thinking maybe he’d smile, maybe whisper something gruff and sweet, maybe just nod with that unreadable expression of his. But not this.

Not Joel Miller, eyes glassy and wide, jaw clenched like he was trying to hold himself together.

You held out the tiny onesie, the words “Coming soon” printed across the front.

He didn’t take it at first. Just stared. Like the weight of it was too much. Like the thought of something so small, so fragile, and his—was more than he could bear.

And then he blinked, just once, and the first tear slipped free.

—“I never thought...” he whispered, voice breaking, “I’d get another chance to do this right.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped closer and let him wrap his arms around you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breathing shaky.

You were carrying his child. And for a man who thought he'd lost everything— this was hope, wrapped in your heartbeat.