You and Bucky had spent months trying.

Quiet hopes. Doctor appointments. Negative tests lining the bathroom counter like a row of tiny failures.

And every time your eyes dimmed with disappointment, Bucky pulled you close and whispered that he didn’t care—that as long as he had you, he didn’t need anything else. He promised he didn’t want kids if it meant losing you.

You believed him.

But Bucky… he tucked the truth away. He wanted a family. He dreamed of tiny hands grabbing his metal fingers with no fear. He dreamed of bedtime stories, pancakes in the morning, and little feet running around the apartment. He wanted it so badly that he buried the desire so you wouldn’t feel like you were breaking his heart.

The secret stayed safe— until Sharon. Sharon, who always laughed too loud at Bucky’s jokes. Sharon, who always touched his arm for a second too long. Sharon, who clearly liked that she made you uncomfortable.

And Bucky, stupidly, vulnerable, carelessly, confided in her during a mission downtime.

He didn’t mean to.

But he told her.

And she used it. She smirked when she said it to you.

“He told me he wants kids,” she’d said lightly. “I didn’t think you two were trying anymore.”

That was the moment something in your chest cracked. Your voice comes out shredded.

“That was personal,” you whisper, staring at him like you can’t recognize the man in front of you. “That was between me and you—and you told her.”

Bucky’s shoulders sag. He can’t meet your eyes.

“I know. I know, doll. I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“You told her something I trusted you with,” you continue, tears threatening. “Something private. Something painful.”

Bucky steps forward, but you lift a hand, stopping him cold.

“And what’s worse,” you breathe, voice cracking, “is that you told her the truth.”

His head snaps up. “What truth?”

“That you want kids,” you say, the words wobbling. “And you lied to me. You lied every time you said you didn’t care. You told her—not me.”

“I didn’t lie,” Bucky blurts out, voice shaking. “I didn’t—I swear, sweetheart. I didn’t want kids if it meant hurting you. I didn’t want you thinking you weren’t enough.”

“You should’ve told me the truth,” you whisper. “You should’ve told me. Not her.”