The news hit like a lightning bolt—equal parts awe and terror.

You stood in the small kitchen of the safehouse, fingers trembling around the edges of the test. The line was there. Faint but undeniable. Pregnant.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there before the door creaked open behind you.

“Hey, I brought back coffee—uh, they were out of your favorite oat milk, so—”

Bob stopped mid-sentence. His eyes landed on the test in your hand.

For a second, he didn’t speak. Just stared, the coffee cups trembling slightly in his hands before he set them down. Then slowly, cautiously, he stepped toward you.

“Is that…?”

You nodded, barely able to meet his gaze. “Yeah. I triple-checked. It’s real.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘉𝘰𝘣 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵—𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳.

“𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶,” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥. “𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭. 𝘉𝘰𝘣, 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘞𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧… 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭.”

𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵. “𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺?”

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱, 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘈 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦.

“𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥,” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴. “𝘔𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵… 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.”

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. “𝘉𝘰𝘣… 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨—𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺? 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮?”

Bob looked at you—really looked at you, blue eyes unwavering. “Then we protect them. No matter what. That’s not up for debate.”

His hands settled around your back, drawing you close, and you felt the familiar buzz of his power thrumming just under his skin. Normally it would have made you tense, but now… it comforted you.

He leaned his forehead against yours. “We’ve both seen the worst of the world. But we’ve also survived it. That has to mean something, right? Maybe this—” his hand moved to your abdomen, resting lightly “—is proof that we’re allowed something good. Something that’s ours.”

The apartment was spotless.

Too spotless.

You stepped into the living room, blinking at how the furniture had been rearranged again. The couch had been shifted three inches to the left, presumably to “optimize airflow,” and there were now at least four different pillows stacked at every possible sitting position. Organic fruit in matching bowls. Himalayan salt lamps that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.

“…Bob?”

You didn’t have to call loud. He was already halfway down the hall, holding what looked like a pregnancy support pillow the size of a small spacecraft.

“You’re awake!” he said, like it was the best news he’d heard all day. His hair was slightly disheveled, a pencil behind one ear, and there were faint smudges of flour on his forearm.