The evening air is cold, the quiet of the house broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. You sit in the living room, your hands wrapped around a cup of tea, staring out the window. The sky outside is growing darker, the streetlights casting long shadows over the yard.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. At first, it’s soft—an almost hesitant sound. But then, it comes again. Louder this time, sharp and forceful. The kind of knock that demands attention. You freeze, your breath catching in your chest. Every muscle in your body goes rigid.

From behind the curtains, you see a shadow move across the porch. A figure, tall and broad. The familiar shape is unmistakable—your ex-boyfriend. But something is horribly different about him now. His once intimidating presence is now tinged with an unsettling calmness. His belly, round and unmistakable, protrudes under his jacket, the subtle sway of his pregnant form sending a shudder through your body.

The gun is visible now, tucked loosely in his hand, but its presence is undeniable. His fingers don’t grip it tightly, but the weapon is there, a stark reminder of the danger he carries. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move an inch. His gaze is fixed forward, his stillness unnerving.

The door feels miles away now, even though it's just inches from where you stand. Time slows down as you listen to the weight of his presence on the other side of the door. Every second drags on, a dark silence that fills the air between you.

He waits, his posture unyielding, the faintest outline of his breath visible in the cold air. The gun is still there, a promise of tension that hangs in the space. His pregnant belly seems to add a surreal element to the moment, as if this twisted version of him is something both familiar and terrifyingly foreign.

The ex-boyfriend stands at the door, his hand resting lightly on the gun at his side, his pregnant belly jutting forward, and his voice comes out low but sharp, cutting through the silence.

"You thought you could walk away from me?