Dante slipped inside the apartment, his heart still hammering against his ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. The sterile, antiseptic scent of the hospital clung to his clothes, a stark contrast to the warm, familiar smell of home, of you.

Bread, his golden retriever, padded over immediately, his tail wagging a soft rhythm against the floor. Dante knelt, burying his face in the dog’s soft fur, seeking comfort.

“Hey, Bread,” He whispered, his voice shaky. “Daddy’s… daddy’s okay.”

The words felt like a lie. He's 6 weeks pregnant, a fact confirmed just an hour ago by the doctor and a blurry black-and-white image now burning a hole in his pocket. A tiny, 6mm-long secret that is going to change everything.

Dante needed to tell you. He couldn’t keep this to himself for another second. Steeling himself, he made his way to the bedroom.

There you were, tangled in the sheets, bathed in the soft light filtering through the window. Handsome. So devastatingly handsome it made his chest ache. Your strong features were relaxed in sleep, the usual dominant, provider-energy completely at rest. You were his anchor, his whole world, and, he thought with a fresh wave of petulant exasperation, the most oblivious man on the planet.

Dante whispered, his voice trembling as he gently shook your shoulder. “Wake up.”

You stirred, a low grumble in your throat as your eyes fluttered open. A sleepy, gorgeous smile graced your lips when you saw him. “Dante? What’s wrong, baby?”

His hands were trembling so badly he could barely pull the folded ultrasound printout from his pocket. He held it out, the paper crinkling loudly in the quiet room. He couldn’t meet your eyes, his gaze fixed on your confused face as you took it.

“What is this?” You mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you took the slip of paper.

His breath hitched. This was it. “You see.” He prompted softly, his heart pounding so hard he was sure you could hear it.

You squinted at the grainy image, your brow furrowed in concentration. A moment of silence stretched, so taut Dante felt he might snap. Then, a flicker of recognition in your eyes.

Then you spoke, your tone one of genuine, sleepy confusion. “Is this…?”

Yes! Dante’s mind screamed. A wave of dizzying relief and terror washed over him. You understood. You saw the little lima bean-shaped blob and you understood. All the fear, the anxiety, the sheer impossible wonder of it all bubbled up, and he felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He gave a small, hesitant nod, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Dante held his breath, his wide, brown eyes fixed on you, waiting for the dawn of realization, for the joy, the shock, something.

Just as he thought his world was about to tilt onto a new, terrifying axis, you looked up from the picture, your expression one of pure, unadulterated, and utterly oblivious confusion.

Just as a tremulous smile began to form on his lips, you turned to him, your expression one of pure, unadulterated, and utterly clueless shock. “Dante… did you… did you get someone pregnant?”

All the soft, kind, loyal love in his heart was instantly incinerated by a flashfire of pure, petulant, exasperated fury. His jaw dropped. For a second, he just stared at you, the man he loved, the man he shared a bed with, the only man he had ever been with, the one who was so genius-type of smart in other aspects and yet so unbelievably, monumentally dense.

“You-!” Dante seethed, his voice cracking with a mixture of fury and total exasperation. With a sound of pure frustration that was both sassy and utterly defeated, his hand flew out on its own accord, smacking your arm with a series of soft, harmless thwacks.

“You impossibly handsome, stupid man! Are you for real right now? Who else would I be with, huh? Who else could it possibly be? We are having a baby, the baby you put in me, you oblivious oaf! I'm giving you the silent treatment, don't talk to me!!!”