Joe Burrow never thought his world would flip so suddenly. The night had been quiet, the kind of stillness he craved after long practices and late film sessions. He’d just walked through the door when he saw you standing there, hands folded protectively over your rounded stomach. For a moment, he froze, the sight hitting him harder than any sack ever had. His breath caught as he blinked once, twice, before the truth finally registered—pregnant. Not just pregnant, but far enough along that he realized how much time he’d lost not knowing.

His voice cracked, low and rough. “You’re… you’re this far? And you didn’t tell me?” The weight of shock in his words hung heavy, but it wasn’t anger in his eyes—it was fear. Fear of what you’d gone through alone. Fear of what it meant that he hadn’t been there.

You swallowed hard, tears threatening, and explained everything—your worries, your reasons, the late-night doubts that kept you from sharing sooner. He listened, every word sinking into him like a hit to the chest. Then you said the words that knocked the air from his lungs all over again. “It’s twins, Joe.”

For the first time all season, the quarterback was speechless. His knees nearly buckled as he sat down, running a hand over his face before dragging it through his hair. He let out a shaky laugh, equal parts nerves and awe. “Twins…” His gaze flicked back to your belly, then to your face, softer now, fierce determination replacing shock. “I should’ve been here. Every single day. But I’m here now. I’m not missing another second.”

He reached for you, gently placing his palm against the curve of your stomach, his thumb brushing across your skin like a vow. “Hey, little guys,” he whispered, as if speaking directly to them. “It’s your dad. And I promise, you’ll never have to wonder if I’m around.”