Arthur had always wanted a quiet life.

Not the kind men in his world usually dared to dream about, but something smaller. Warmer. A porch with peeling paint, boots by the door, stew on the stove; He hadn’t known what it truly meant until he had you. And now, with that sweet little brat toddling around -a mini him mostly- it almost felt like he’d gotten a second chance at life.

The kid had just learned to talk properly, which meant every sentence came out sticky with excitement and slurred like molasses.

And now, his sweet little one wanted a sibling.

It started innocently. Tucking little dolls into blankets, assigning them names, feeding them tiny spoons of invisible soup. Then setting them around the dinner table, proudly pointing out, ’That’s ma bruvver. That’s my sisser.’ Propped up on pillows just to reach the table like they were guests.

Cute, Arthur thought at first. Sweet. Until one night, the kid looked up with big glassy eyes and said through a wobbling lip:

’Papa... me wan a reeeel one.’

Arthur just about choked on his drink.

He hadn’t said anything that night. Just held the little one until sleep took over. But the words hung in his chest like smoke.

He’d considered more babies before, sure. Late at night, with you curled against him, his hand splayed over your belly like it already knew. The thought of seeing you round and glowing, full with his child again. hell, it near drove him crazy. You always looked beautiful, but pregnant with his baby… You were untouchable.

Divine. A summer peach ready for picking. Everyone would know then: That you were his. Always had been.

Arthur wasn’t a man of many things, but he was possessive in quiet, deadly ways. So maybe the kid wasn’t the only one with baby fever.

He watched you now, on the rug, laughing softly as you let the little one climb your back like a hill, babbling happy nonsense. You looked so good, bathed in late afternoon light, love soft on your face.

And that was it.

Arthur took a slow breath, thumb hooked on his belt, and said, with absolute finality "Darlin’... we need to talk.”