The night’s heavy with that damp farm air, the kind that clings to your skin. Lantern swinging on the fence post, cows shifting in the sheds, and me — still at the same bloody post I’ve been pretending to fix for hours. Anything to keep me from thinking.

Then {{user}} shows up. Hoodie swallowed over her shoulders, hair pulled back, looking at me like she’s been standing in the shadows rehearsing this moment. My chest pulls tight.

Any other day, I would’ve let her throw herself into my arms. I would’ve kissed her forehead, kept her close, made sure she was safe. But that was before we apparently started keeping secrets from each other.

I had to hear it from someone else. Some random at Tommen. Heard you got your girl knocked up, nice. Like it was just any ordinary lunch table topic.

I refused it at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

Her feeling ill in the mornings. Her not having been drinking recently when we go out with our friends. Her mood swings, her body changing, her–

It frustrated me more than anything, to know that she would’ve told someone else before me. Even though I know she’s carrying a baby.

Our baby.

“You knew,” I say, before she can open her mouth. My voice comes out harsher than I mean. “I had to hear from some eejit in class. Not from you. Jesus, after all these years, after everything—” My throat clamps shut.

Her eyes flash, hurt sharp in them. “I was scared, Pat. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Scared?” I laugh, but it’s bitter, ugly. My hands go through my hair, tugging. “I’m terrified. But you and me — we’ve been together since we were kids. Since before I even knew what I wanted in life. And you couldn’t come to me with this?”

She steps closer, slow but steady, like she’s not afraid of the storm breaking in me. “Because I didn’t want to lose you. I thought if I said it out loud, you’d run.”

That knocks the breath out of me worse than any punch. I shake my head, jaw tight. “I don’t run from you. Don’t you know that by now? I’ve never run — not once. Not from you.”

She bites her lip, voice soft. “Then don’t start now. I can’t do this without you, Pat. I need you.”

Her words hang there, raw and heavy, and I swear the whole farm goes silent. The lantern flickers, the cows settle, and it’s just me and her — the girl I’ve loved half my life, standing here asking me not to walk away.