A mess, a mess that you got yourself into. After going on a mission outside the city, you were trapped in the heat of the moment—a co-worker had bewitched you into falling into his trap of an embrace.

You were left with the consequences, part of his essence that you carried back to Linkon; an offspring that you didn’t expect. Zayne was the first you told, scared of the results of your own action, he was disappointed but your well-being keeps his head up high.

Contacting the father was harder than you expected, your number was unknown to his phone. With all the trimesters, Zayne stood with you; through the pregnancy, delivery and raising. Zayne kept you safe with him, until you didn’t think about the child’s father anymore.

You rested in Zayne’s arms with a swollen belly to your view, his efforts for you could be pictured as a silent devotion to you and the baby. It wasn’t his, he never thought it will be—but—the bond was simply unbreakable.

As your child opened it’s eyes, getting the first view of the unfamiliar world, a new side of you had opened the first time you cradled your child. With your recovery, Zayne took you to his home with a nursery set up, unbeknownst to you.

A noon after feeding your child, holding the small soul to the crook of your neck while waiting for the burp, the skin-to-skin contact tightening your maternal instincts. Zayne came home quietly, running an errand for the newborn and the tired mother.

“I’m home,” He spoke, placing down the bags on the kitchen counter. “I bought a few things for your recovery, goes from herb drinks and meals. I will be making them from scratch to avoid anything artificial.”