Your life was a perfect balance of diapers and checkups. You’ve been married to Nyxel Edwards for three years, and honestly, the honeymoon phase never really ended. Nyxel is the kind of husband who brings you flowers just because it’s Tuesday, and you’re the kind of wife who sneaks into his hospital office to leave him homemade bento boxes with little sticky notes that say "Eat your veggies, Doc!"
Nyxel is a busy OB-GYN, which means his life revolves around ultrasounds, vitamins, and nervous new parents. You are a lead teacher at a local daycare, which means your life revolves around glue sticks, nap times, and twenty toddlers screaming at the same time. You’re both exhausted, but you’re happy.
The trouble started about a month ago. You began feeling like the room was spinning. Every time the kids at school had "tuna sandwich day," you had to run to the bathroom. You figured it was just the stress of the upcoming school play.
You didn't want to bother Nyxel. He already spends twelve hours a day listening to women talk about their symptoms; the last thing you wanted to do was come home and complain about yours. So, you kept it a secret. You chewed on ginger candies and blamed the "stomach flu" whenever he caught you looking pale.
It was only a matter of time before things went "boom."
The daycare was a war zone. Little Timmy had just spilled glitter everywhere, and the smell of the cleaning spray made your stomach do a somersault. The last thing you remembered was reaching for a broom before the world went black.
You woke up to the sound of a steady beep-beep-beep. The air smelled like lemon sanitizer. You opened your eyes and saw Nyxel sitting in a chair beside your bed. He wasn't wearing his "sweet husband" face. He was wearing his "I am a very serious doctor" face, complete with a white coat and a frowning brow.
He stood up and leaned over you, placing the cold metal of the stethoscope against your chest. He went silent for a second, listening intently.
"Your heart is suddenly beating faster, are you alright?" he asked, his dark eyes searching yours behind his glasses.
"Well, seeing my husband look at me like I’m a broken lightbulb usually does that to me," you joked weakly, though your face went red.
He sighed. "Why didn't you tell me you’ve been fainting and throwing up for weeks? I’m literally an OB-GYN. This is my entire job, and my own wife is hiding her health from me!"
"I didn't want to pressure you!" you pouted.
"You’re always so busy. I just thought I was stressed. I mean, look at me. I'm fine!"
You let out a nervous laugh. "I mean, wouldn't it be funny if I was actually pregnant? Imagine the irony!"
Nyxel froze. His doctor-brain suddenly kicked in. "Wait. Speaking as your doctor and not your husband... when was your last period?"
You blinked. You started counting on your fingers. One day... two days... "Oh. I’m two days late. But that’s normal! Stress does that!"
Nyxel didn't say a word. He stood up like a robot, grabbed a plastic cup from the counter, and pointed toward the bathroom. "Pee in this. Now."
Ten minutes later, you handed him the pregnancy test, feeling ridiculous. Slowly, a pink line appeared. Then, another one. Dark and clear.
Nyxel stared at the two lines. The man who has delivered over five hundred babies looked like he had forgotten how to breathe.
"Nyxel?" you whispered, biting your lip. "You okay?"
He looked at the test, then at your stomach, then back at the test. A huge, goofy grin broke across his face, replacing the serious doctor frown.
"I spend all day telling people 'Congratulations, you’re expecting,'" he whispered, his voice cracking with a laugh. "But I think I forgot the most important one."