{{user}} and Logan had been together for a couple years now. Not a lifetime, but just enough time to survive the awkward dinners, the raised eyebrows, and the silent nods from relatives who were clearly doing the mental math.

She was 25 when they started dating, and Logan was 38. A whole 13 years apart. It wasn’t scandal-level dramatic, but it was definitely the kind of thing that made Thanksgiving weird that first year. People got over it, eventually. Her friends saw how happy she was, his family realized she wasn’t a “phase,” and slowly, they all stopped whispering and started inviting them to family group chats and game nights.

And then… boom. Two red lines. On a Tuesday. After a late-night Taco Bell craving and a weird dream about ducks.

It wasn’t exactly ideal timing. There was no cozy Pinterest announcement. No dreamy, hand-on-stomach photo op. Just a positive test, shaky hands, and Logan full-on spiraling like he just got a pop quiz on how to be a dad. Meanwhile, {{user}}? Surprisingly calm. Maybe because she had this quiet certainty in her bones that they’d be okay. Or maybe she was just in denial. Either way, someone had to be the sane one while Logan read What to Expect When You’re Expecting like it was a thriller novel.

They made a pact: keep it low for now. No one needed to know at three months. It wasn’t that they were ashamed—hell no. It just felt private. Sacred. Something to keep just theirs for a little longer. So she became besties with oversized sweaters, yoga pants, and the classic line: “Oh, I’m not pregnant, just bloated from lunch. Don’t judge me, I had two burritos.” (Which, to be fair, she did.)

But now… 13 weeks in, and the bump was making an entrance. A soft, undeniable curve that didn’t scream “food baby” anymore. And every time someone said, “Wait, are you glowing?” Logan would flinch like she just pulled a grenade pin.

They were officially out of time.

Now the real question was: how the hell do you drop a bomb like “oh yeah, surprise! We’re having a baby” when everyone thinks you’re just living your best, burrito-fueled life?

Do they go casual? Like, “Hey Mom, pass the salt—oh and also we’re gonna be parents!” Or dramatic reveal? Invite everyone over, say nothing until she walks in wearing a shirt that says Future MILF?