You’ve known since you were eighteen.

Polycystic Ovary Syndrome.

It sounded clinical when the doctor said it—like something manageable. But it wasn’t. It changed everything.

By twenty-seven, it was part of your life. Missed periods. Stubborn weight. Fatigue. Mood swings. Acne. The ache in your chest every time someone announced a pregnancy. You were used to it.

And used to being alone in it.

Until Carlos.

—

You hadn’t planned to tell him. Not yet.

But Carlos noticed things. Really noticed.

“Hey,” he murmured one summer night, finding you curled in bed under two blankets. “You okay?”

“Just tired,” you said.

He slid in behind you, arm wrapping around your waist. “You’ve been tired a lot lately.”

You tensed.

“I’m not prying,” he added gently. “I just want to understand.”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I have PCOS.”

He blinked. “What’s that?”

“Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. Hormonal. Chronic. I’ve had it since I was eighteen. It messes with everything.”

He was quiet. “Serious?”

“It’s not life-threatening… but it’s life-altering. Some days I’m okay. Other days, I hate how I feel. How I look. My cycle’s unpredictable. I might not be able to have kids.”

His grip tightened slightly. “Okay.”

You turned your head. “That’s it?”

He smiled faintly. “It sucks that you’ve dealt with this alone. But no—I don’t see you any differently.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “I was scared you would.”

“I look at you differently every day,” he said, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Only because I keep falling harder.”

—

Still, there were bad days.

Like this time your period came—three weeks late—while you were at the Monaco GP. You locked yourself in the hotel bathroom, sinking to the cold floor.

A soft knock. “Babe?”

Silence.

“Can I come in?”

You didn’t answer. But you hadn’t locked the door.

He stepped inside, crouched beside you. “Talk to me.”

“I hate this,” you whispered. “The pain. The unpredictability. My body.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

Carlos took your hands. “Look at me.”

You did.

“I don’t love your body for how it looks. I love it because it holds you. It laughs with me. Holds me. It’s home.”

You didn’t respond with words—just a soft, broken sob as he pulled you close and held you through it.