"I hate you. I hate you!" they shouted, their voice breaking with rage. "You traitor!"

"Love, please," I begged, my voice trembling, desperate. "Please… don’t—"

"I'm not your love," they growled, shoving me hard in the chest. "I’m not anything to you!"

"You are," I whispered, my lips brushing their neck, careful, tender. "You’re my partner… my heart." I traced the pulse that hammered beneath their skin. "And I am yours." My lips moved to the curve of their jaw, lingering, pleading without words.

"I'm going to leave you," they sobbed, the words ripping through the room like shards of glass.

"You’re not going anywhere," I said, voice tight with fear. "Not while you’re carrying our child. Not ever."

"I hate you!" they screamed again, raw and jagged.

"I know," I said, my chest aching with a pain I couldn’t name. "I know, love. You can hate me, you can hurt me, you can tear me apart… you can break me completely. But please, don’t leave me."

"I'm going to destroy you," they spat, eyes flashing, trembling with fury.

"Then destroy me," I whispered, almost smiling through the tears. "But please… love, don’t leave me. I cannot survive without you. Every part of me—my soul, my blood, my breath—is yours."

They froze, chest heaving, and for a moment the anger wavered. I held them close, letting the quiet ache between us stretch, hoping, praying, that the love buried beneath the rage could still be found.