Simon stepped into the house, pushing the door shut behind him with his shoulder. The familiar sound of the lock sliding into place echoed through the quiet hallway. He dropped his keys in the bowl by the door, the metal clinking softly, then slipped off his boots with a practiced motion and set them neatly by the wall. His bag hit the ground with a dull thud.

Home.

He waited for the usual sound — your voice, your footsteps, a “Hey, you” from the other room. But the silence held.

He glanced toward the living room. No light. The kitchen was clean, untouched. Something felt... still. Not wrong. Just different.

You hadn't answered his message earlier. Not unusual. But still.

The past years had taught him to listen to the quiet.

Four years ago, you’d both been certain. Children — yes. A family. Of course. It was the easiest decision either of you had ever made. But month after month passed, each cycle ending with a quiet disappointment neither of you knew how to name.

After two years, you went to the doctor. The results had hit hard. Simon remembered sitting in that office, your hand in his, as the specialist explained his sperm had been damaged — poor motility, structural issues. Likely a result of past trauma, maybe heat exposure. It all blurred together under one word: infertility.

Then came your tests. Your egg reserve was low. Your chances — even lower.

Still, you fought. Both of you. You started hormone therapy. Every night, you braced yourself while he held the syringe.

And now… today...

You were pregnant.

He didn’t know yet.

Simon walked down the hallway, rubbing his hands together slowly — more out of habit than cold. His mind was still at work, still going over intel, conversations, logistics.

He paused outside the bedroom door. It was closed. Just barely. A thin line of soft light cut across the floor.

He pressed his hand to the wood, then pushed the door open gently.

His eyes found you. He stopped.

A heartbeat passed.

"What’s going on, sweetheart?”

His voice was low, calm — but edged with curiosity. Still unaware. Still yours.