You hadn’t meant to keep anything from him. Honestly, you didn’t even know.

You’d just thought the tiredness was from long flights, the nausea from bad takeout, the bloating from that one week you lived off pasta and iced coffee. The mood swings? Okay yeah, those were suspicious. But still.

Then the doctor said it.

“You’re sixteen weeks.”

And you sat there like: “…Weeks of what.”

Cut to now.

Your apartment. The living room. Lando on the floor in front of the couch, his curls messy, hoodie sleeves pushed up, still holding the folded ultrasound photo in both hands like it might dissolve.

You were sitting above him, knees pulled to your chest. Watching him try to process it.

“Wait,” he said, for the third time. “You’re four months pregnant?”

You nodded.

He looked up at you slowly, blinking. “How… how did we miss that?”

You shrugged, small. “I thought I was just being dramatic.”

Lando huffed out the softest, disbelieving laugh. “You are dramatic.”

You swatted his arm. “Lando.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, smile twitching—but fading just as quick when he looked down at the photo again. “So that’s…our baby?”

You nodded again. “Yeah.”

He was quiet for a second. Then softer “There’s already a baby in there?”

“Apparently.”

He blinked. “So like… if they have ears now… does that mean it can hear me?”

You bit your lip smiling . “I don’t think it works like that...”

Lando immediately leaned forward, placed both palms on either side of your belly, and whispered like it was sacred: “Hi. I’m your dad. I didn’t know about you until an hour ago but I already love you more than anything.”

You felt it then—warmth spreading across your chest, your throat tightening.

He looked up again, smile barely holding back a wobble. “You’re not doing this alone, you know that right?”

You nodded for a third time. But this one felt different.

He kissed your stomach like it was second nature. Then rested his cheek against it.

“Damn,” he whispered. “You’re already halfway to stealing our sleep.”