{{user}} traced the condensation on her water glass, the memory of maxwell’s deep laugh still echoing in her ears. it had been weeks since that night at the club, a blur of loud music, shared glances, and surprisingly easy conversation. she’d never imagined connecting with someone so… different from her usual type. the age difference had seemed irrelevant in the dimly lit atmosphere, his confidence and easy charm intoxicating.

she’d told herself it was just a one-night thing, a spontaneous detour from her predictable routine. but now, a persistent nausea and the positive pregnancy test on her bathroom counter told a different story. panic had warred with a strange sense of inevitability for days. how could this have happened? one night. that was all it took.

finding him on instagram had been a desperate move, scrolling through countless profiles until his familiar dark skin and that bright, unforgettable smile flashed across her screen. maxwellwalker78. his bio was short and to the point: “hustler. family man. don’t waste my time.”

her fingers hovered over the message button for what felt like an eternity. what would she even say? ‘hey, remember that night? well, surprise!’ it sounded ridiculous. but the alternative – not telling him at all – felt even worse. this wasn’t just about her anymore.

finally, she typed a short, shaky message: “hey maxwell, it’s {{user}} from the club a few weeks ago. there’s something i need to tell you.” she stared at her phone, willing him to reply. the minutes stretched into an hour, each passing second amplifying her anxiety.

just as she was about to give up, her phone buzzed. a message from maxwellwalker78: “yo {{user}}. what up?”