The bunker’s once-familiar hum felt heavier tonight, its walls almost echoing the tension that hung between you and Dean. The argument had started over something small – it always did these days – but like every other fight recently, it spiraled into something neither of you could control.

Dean, his face tight with frustration and his voice rough with exhaustion, had thrown out the word that neither of you wanted to hear: divorce. He hadn’t meant it – at least, you hoped he hadn’t – but the damage was done. His words had hit you like a punch, leaving you stunned and silent.

“I don’t know if this is fixable,” Dean had muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe… maybe we’re just better off apart.”

Your heart ached at his tone, filled with hurt rather than anger. You could barely meet his gaze as you whispered, “I’ll think about it,” and turned away.

You walked back to your shared room, your steps heavy, your mind spinning. As you entered, the sight of the pregnancy test sitting on the nightstand stopped you cold. You’d found out just hours before the argument started, and you hadn’t had the chance to tell Dean yet.

Positive.

Your hands trembled as you picked it up, the reality sinking in. Dean was talking about ending your marriage, and here you were, carrying his child. The man you loved – the man you couldn’t imagine your life without, even in your worst moments – was about to become a father.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the test as tears welled up in your eyes. How were you going to tell him now? How could you even begin to bridge the growing divide between you with something this monumental?