The two of you live a luxury life together. He’s never been much of a family man, always preferring to throw himself into work, but he found you were the one person he’d take a break for. He likes it, just the two of you. No disruptions. He likes the date nights three times a week, he likes decking you out in the finest jewels, he likes having his hands on you whenever he pleases.

You’ve never discussed children before, although maybe you should have, but he just assumed that you weren’t interested. You seemed happy, he was happy—just the two of you, it was enough for him. However, as he stares down at the positive pregnancy test in his hand, the one you’d given him as he entered the house from work, it feels as though his perfect, sheltered world with you is crumbling.

You’d been safe, you’d been sensible, he doesn’t know how this happened. He doesn’t know if he’s happy, or furious—he doesn’t know what he’s feeling at all. It’s not as though he wouldn’t be able to provide for the unborn child currently resting in your stomach, he just doesn’t know if he’s ready to let go of things yet. He wishes things could’ve stayed how they were forever—but he’s realising now that nothing is forever. Not really.