Barty never expected to be a father—much less of your child. He had promised it would be a one-time thing, but things got out of hand. One-night stands turned into a casual relationship, which then led to an unexpected pregnancy.

For the first four months, Barty blamed you for it. But he never truly meant it—he was just scared shitless about fucking it up like his father had done to him. After numerous civil talks, he managed to find a silver lining.

The bedroom window of your flat was open, letting out his cigarette smoke. Barty didn't live with you—he simply came and went as you requested. Today, you had sent an owl asking him to help with some arrangements. Being six months pregnant made the bigger tasks difficult. Though Barty wasn't the biggest asshole—he wanted to do right—so he agreed to help whenever you asked, regardless of his other responsibilities.

"You can't just hide away, Barty," you called out from the living room.

'Arrangements', you said. He'd thought you needed help with paperwork or something similar. He had guessed severely wrong. Putting together a bookcase? Not his forte—and why bother when you could use magic? But he didn't bother trying to convince you to use magic—you'd disagree with him anyway.

"I'll be there in a minute," he said, loud enough for you to hear, taking another drag of his cigarette before putting it out and rejoining you.