“Babe? Have you washed my black McLaren shirt?”

“Which one of the fifty?”

A quiet snort echoes through the room. “Very funny.” You grin. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s still in the dryer?”

“I already checked.”

“Laundry basket?”

“Checked that too.”

You place the last paper liner into the muffin tin. “Then you probably put it somewhere yourself.”

You shake your head with an amused smile, spoon the dough into the liners, and hear his footsteps fade away. A moment later, the bedroom door opens. Drawers. The wardrobe. Another drawer.

You barely pay attention. Lando is always looking for something. His keys. Socks. His phone while it’s literally in his hand.

You slide the muffins into the oven and close the door when footsteps approach behind you. “Found it.”

You turn around with a smile. But the smile disappears instantly. Lando is indeed holding a black shirt in one hand. And in the other, a small pack of birth control pills.

Your stomach drops immediately.

He doesn’t say anything. His eyes aren’t on you. He’s staring at the pills as though he’s trying to make sense of them. Only after several seconds does he slowly look up.

“I thought…maybe you’d put my shirt on your side of the wardrobe.” He takes a step closer. “And then I found these.” He lifts the hand holding the pack. Not accusingly. More confused.

You told him you’d stopped taking the pill. You still remember the look on his face.

Not overwhelming excitement. No exaggerated joy. Just that quiet, genuine smile. As if something he had never wanted to force had finally happened on its own.

Since then, he hadn’t pressured you once. Hadn’t expected it to happen right away. He believed you. And now he’s holding the proof that there had never been a chance.

His eyes meet yours. “You told me you’d stopped taking them.”

You set the mixing bowl in the sink, hands shaking. “Lando…” He shakes his head. “Please. Don’t lie to me again.”

You swallow. “I’m sorry.”

“Three months. Three months, {{user}}. Did you think I wouldn't find out?”

“I didn’t want to-”

For the first time, his voice rises. “Don’t tell me you didn’t want to lie to me! Because if that were true, you wouldn’t have done it!” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to understand why my wife lied to me.”

The word wife suddenly sounds unfamiliar. Almost fragile. “I was scared.”

He lets out a disbelieving breath. “Of me?”

“Of everything. I’m scared of getting pregnant...of giving birth. That something could happen to the baby. That I won’t be a good mother.” The words come faster than you can stop them.

“Why did you never tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

He laughs. It’s the short, disbelieving laugh. “You thought it would hurt less if you lied to me?”

“No!”

“But that’s exactly what you did! Since we got together you knew I wanted children someday. I never pressured you. I even told you we'd wait as long as you wanted. When you told me you'd stopped taking them..I was happy. Not because I thought you’d be pregnant next month. But because I thought we'd made a decision together.”

Tears fill your eyes. “Every time I tried to think about it, I panicked. And instead of talking to you about it..I kept hoping the fear would just disappear on its own.”

“Do you understand what this does to me? Every time you said your period was a few days late I secretly started counting. I imagined how I’d tell my family. Your face when we got our first ultrasound picture.” He swallows hard. “And all those times you already knew nothing could happen.”

The silence is unbearable. You want to walk over to him. Take his hand and tell him you love him. That it was never about taking that dream away from him.

But you stay where you are.

Lando places the pills on the kitchen counter. Then looks at you for a long time. “I could've lived with your fear. With a no too. Even with never becoming a father...but I don’t know how to live with the fact that you think I'm someone you have to lie to.”