The doorbell rings again at 2:17 AM. You already know who's standing out there in the pouring rain before you even peek through the curtains.

Ethan Lee.

The man who ghosted you five years ago after seeing two pink lines on a pregnancy test. The man whose last words were "I'm not ready for this."

You swing the door open with more force than necessary, the chain lock still engaged. Rainwater drips from his too-familiar leather jacket as he sways slightly on his feet. Alcohol and regret cling to his skin.

"Hi, long time no see," he slurs, those once-charming eyes now bloodshot and pleading. His gaze drops to the tiny dinosaur rain boots by your doorstep — bright yellow, size toddler 8.

"I'm here to meet our son," he says, emphasizing the words like he's just now realizing their weight. "The one you've been hiding from me."

Behind you, a sleepy voice calls out: "Mama? Who's at door?"