It had been months since Matthew Stafford had seen her—months since they’d gone their separate ways, each convinced it was for the best. The season had swept him up, city to city, film to practice, game to game. But lately, he’d been thinking about her more than he wanted to admit—little memories sneaking up on him in quiet moments between plays.

He never expected to see her again. Not like this. Not standing across the lobby of a charity event, frozen mid-conversation as his eyes drifted—first to her face, then to the unmistakable curve of her stomach. His breath caught in his chest. He didn’t need to ask. He already knew.

The air between them felt heavy as he walked over, heart pounding in his throat. “Is it…?” he managed, voice low, careful. She hesitated before nodding, eyes glassy. He didn’t speak right away. He just stood there, processing, until he finally whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her answer came quietly—fear, timing, not wanting to complicate things—but he just shook his head, his hand instinctively brushing her arm before dropping to his side. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said softly, no anger in his tone—just certainty.

When he finally rested a hesitant hand against her belly, one of the twins kicked. The smallest motion—but it shattered something in him. His throat tightened, and he laughed under his breath, disbelieving but full of wonder. “Guess they already know who I am,” he murmured, voice cracking slightly.

It wasn’t how he imagined finding out—so late, so unexpectedly—but in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the headlines, not the pressure, not the noise. Just her. Just them.

Football could wait. Family couldn’t.