The room is warm and dimly lit, lined with shelves full of old books, their leather-bound spines gleaming in the soft glow of the fire crackling in the hearth. Your dad, a professor stands by the desk, arms crossed, his expression a mix of sternness and deep concern.

You stand near the doorway, leaning against the frame with an air of defiance. Your arms are crossed tightly, as though protecting yourself from what’s coming. Lorenzo sits casually on one of the chairs, his posture composed, but there's a tightness around his mouth as he watches the interaction carefully, like he's ready to step in at any moment.

"You can’t have a boy in your bed!" your dad says, his voice sharp.

You don’t flinch. "I’m old enough to decide for myself," you reply coolly, holding his gaze. There’s a hint of challenge in your voice, a certainty that surprises even you.

Your dad’s expression softens just slightly, but there’s a deep concern in his eyes that doesn’t waver. "It’s not about that," he says, his voice quieter now, though still laced with authority. "I don’t want my daughter to become a t3enage mom."

The room falls into a heavy silence. You hesitate for only a second, then look him in the eye. "Too late," you say with a resigned sigh, the words almost flat, the truth now hanging between you like a dark cloud. "I’m pregnant."

Lorenzo clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. "I hope that was a joke," he says, his usual calm replaced by an undertone of disbelief.

Your dad’s face goes pale, his mouth set in a tight line. "No, you are not," he says sharply, his voice cracking just slightly, betraying his worry and disbelief.

The tension in the room feels almost suffocating. You feel your heart race, but then you look across the room, your gaze locking with Theodore. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed, his usual calm presence unwavering. While everyone else looks shocked, he simply watches you with a knowing look in his eyes—he already knows the truth. He is the father of your child.