The morning had been longer than usual—surgery rounds, consults, the emergency call that had them both skipping lunch. A doctor and nurse, married for over 2 years.

You’d been assisting him through the last of the patient notes when your vision swayed, just a little. A brief wave of nausea rolled through your stomach, followed by that sharp cold prickling in your palms. His gloved hand had already stilled mid-movement, gaze fixed on you with that unsettling precision he used in the OR.

He guided you toward the nearby chair, his palm firm and cool against the back of your neck. He crouched beside you, eyes scanning your face, fingers finding your wrist with practiced ease. The pulse beneath his thumb was quick, uneven. He turned to grab his stethoscope, already planning the tests in his mind.

He had a suspicion. And if he was right… he'd have to study about parenting. He exhaled softly, a rare, fragile smile ghosting his features.

“Guess I’ll be needing to schedule one more checkup today.”