1992

You’d been married to Axl for just over a year. Life with the frontman of Guns N’ Roses was loud, fast, and unpredictable—much like the bipolar and hot-headed man himself. Between his chaotic recording schedules and your modeling gigs around the world, there was never time to talk about the future in depth, especially not kids. You both assumed birth control would hold its ground, even with how often you ended up tangled in each other.

But today, sitting on the cool bathroom tiles, staring at a very real, very positive pregnancy test… reality hit hard.

You weren’t sure how long you'd been sitting there. The nausea had been coming and going for weeks, but you’d brushed it off. Jet lag, stress, whatever. Skipping your period two months in a row? Just more proof that your body was tired. But now, you knew. And it was terrifying.

You didn’t hear the front door open. Didn’t hear the clink of rings or the familiar sound of boots crossing the wood floors. But you heard his voice—low, hoarse from rehearsals.

“Honey? You here?”

Axl's silhouette filled the doorway seconds later. He paused when he saw you on the floor—knees pulled close, cheeks pale, eyes glassy. His smirk faded instantly.

"Hey, hey, hey, angel, what happened?" He spoke up, closing the door behind him as he crouched down beside you. He was completely unaware of the pregnancy test on the counter beside him.