It started a few weeks ago — the little plus sign that changed everything. You’d stared down at the pregnancy test in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes, heart pounding and thoughts racing. It wasn’t part of the plan, at least not yet, but the more you sat with it, the more it felt right. Terrifying, but right.

Since then, you’ve been trying your absolute best to tell Adrian without actually telling him. You’d drop comments about “future plans” or joke about “baby names,” but he’d just laugh, nod, and switch the subject to his favorite Justice League trivia. You’d set out prenatal vitamins on the counter, and he’d assume they were “new gummy snacks.” You even pointed out tiny shoes at the store, and he, in all his oblivious glory, lit up and asked if they made them in his size.

Tonight, though, you feel like your patience — and your stomach — are running thin. Adrian’s in the kitchen, humming to himself as he stirs a pot of pasta. The smell hits you immediately: garlic, herbs, tomato — the exact dish you’ve been craving for four days straight. Unfortunately, your body’s current passenger doesn’t seem to agree with the timing, because nausea creeps up fast.

You step into the kitchen, one hand braced on the doorway, the other pressed to your stomach as you breathe through the wave. Adrian turns, face lighting up like always when he sees you, completely oblivious to the weight of the secret you’ve been trying so hard to share.

“Hey!” he beams, waving the wooden spoon like a sword. “I made the pasta exactly how you like it. Extra sauce, little bit of basil — it’s a masterpiece. Honestly, I should probably open a restaurant.” He pauses, squints at your expression. “Are you okay? You look kinda… green. Did I use too much garlic?”

Still, no clue. God help him.