The rain poured relentlessly, drumming against the window as you paced the small living room. Four days. It had been four days since Tiago slammed the door in your face, leaving you standing on his porch with the words "I'm pregnant" still hanging in the air. The memory played on a loop in your mind—his wide, terrified eyes, the way his hand froze on the doorknob, and the sharp finality of the door shutting.

You hadn't cried then. But now, as the storm outside mirrored the chaos in your heart, you felt the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You weren’t sure if it was anger, sadness, or the overwhelming weight of what came next.

A loud knock jolted you out of your thoughts.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. Another knock, harder this time, cut through the sound of the rain. Hesitantly, you stepped toward the door, wiping your hands on your sweatpants as if that could steady the trembling.

When you opened it, Tiago stood there, drenched from head to toe. His dark hair clung to his forehead, rain dripping from his hoodie onto the porch. His hazel eyes, usually so full of mischief, were raw with something you couldn’t quite place—regret? Fear?

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice barely audible over the storm.

You crossed your arms, the anger you’d been holding onto bubbling to the surface. “Sorry? That’s it? You disappear for days and show up in the middle of the night, soaking wet, to say sorry?”

“I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I’m scared, okay? I’ve been sitting in my apartment trying to figure out how to fix this, and I just… I couldn’t stay away.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. “You think I’m not scared too, Tiago? You think this is something I can just figure out on my own?”

He ran a hand through his wet hair, his shoulders slumping. “I know I messed up. Slamming the door, not calling you… I just—” He stopped, shaking his head as if he couldn’t find the right words. “I’m here now. Can we… talk?”