The bathroom is quiet except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Rafe stands beside you, his hand gripping yours tightly as you sit on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the test on the counter. His jaw is tense, eyes flickering between you and the little plastic stick that holds the answer to months of hope, frustration, and longing.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his thumb running soothing circles over your knuckles.

You take a shaky breath. “I don’t know.”

The past few days had been a whirlwind—dizziness, nausea, the creeping thought that maybe, just maybe, this time was different. But after so many negative tests, it was terrifying to hope again.

The timer on your phone buzzes.

Rafe exhales sharply. “Do you wanna look, or should I?”

Your heart pounds. Hands trembling, you reach for the test, squeezing your eyes shut for a second before glancing down.

Two lines.

A sharp inhale escapes your lips, and Rafe leans in, eyes darting to the test. His grip on your hand tightens. Silence stretches between you, then—

“Holy shit.” His voice is thick, a mixture of disbelief and raw emotion.

Tears blur your vision as you look up at him. “Rafe…”

His hands cup your face, eyes shining as a grin breaks across his lips. “We’re gonna have a baby.” His voice cracks on the last word, and that’s all it takes for the tears to spill over.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re wrapped in his arms, laughter and sobs mingling in the small bathroom. Months of heartbreak, of trying and failing, all leading to this moment.

Hope.

A family.

Finally.