There were nights I’d lie awake beside her, staring at the ceiling, listening to her breathe.

She never knew how many times I caught her crying in the bathroom — quiet, careful, like if she stayed still enough, the pain wouldn’t find her. And I’d pretend I didn’t hear. Because I didn’t know how to fix something I couldn’t control. Because sometimes, being strong meant not making her carry my heartbreak too.

We wanted this baby so badly. Not just the idea of it — them. A little version of us. Her smile. Maybe my eyes. Or the other way around. We pictured them in every name we whispered at night, in every dream we let ourselves believe just long enough to feel the sting when it didn’t happen. Again.

People told us to “stop thinking about it,” like that made it easier. Like it wasn’t every part of our world by now.

So when I walked through the door that day — tired, body sore from training, head full of lap times and brake balance — I didn’t expect anything to be different.

But then I saw her.

Standing in the kitchen, barefoot, holding something in both hands. Her face was pale, eyes red. I froze. My heart did that thing where it starts beating too hard before it knows why.

“Hey,” I said gently. “Is everything okay?”

She didn’t answer at first. Just slowly walked up to me, lifted the test, and whispered: “It’s positive, Charles. It’s… it’s really positive.”

I forgot how to breathe.

I took the test from her hand like it was made of glass. I stared at those lines — clear, steady, unmistakable — and my knees just gave out. Right there. On the damn floor.

She dropped with me, arms around my shoulders as I tried to stop shaking. My face was wet before I even knew I was crying.

“I didn’t believe it at first,” she said softly. “I thought it was broken. I took four more.”

I couldn’t speak. All I could do was hold her, bury my face in her neck, and feel everything — the grief, the waiting, the quiet nights filled with silent prayers — crack and crumble under this moment.

“I love you,” I choked out. “I love you so much.”

She leaned back and looked at me through tears, smiling in that way she did when her whole heart was in it.

And I said the only thing that mattered:

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.”