There were moments—seconds between songs, between beats, between the noise—where everything slowed down. Where I could breathe.

Tonight wasn’t one of those nights.

The crowd was still roaring from the last chorus, sweat was dripping down my back, and my heart was racing faster than the bass. But it wasn’t the adrenaline. It wasn’t the energy of Buenos Aires. It was something else.

Something… off.

My manager was waving from side stage, trying to get my attention in the middle of the set. I narrowed my eyes. He never did that unless it was serious. I made a quick gesture—“give me a minute”—and tried to stay focused, pushing through one more verse, one more chorus, one more forced smile.

But I felt it. The shift. That weird sixth sense you get after being close to someone for too long.

And suddenly, her name was ringing in my head before anyone even said it.

Kaori.

The moment I ran backstage, I heard the shouting. Not loud—but firm. Tense. My security guy was holding someone back. I knew that tone. I knew her tone.

I shoved past crew, lights, cables—like muscle memory took over—and then I saw her.

Hair a bit messy from the crowd, eyes wide, hands clutching her coat like it was armor. And when she looked at me… it was like being sucker-punched.

“Déjenla pasar,” I barked at the guard, who immediately stepped aside.

Kaori stepped into the corridor like it burned beneath her feet, like she didn’t really want to be here—but had to. I was still trying to catch my breath, trying to make sense of her being here, now, after months of silence. After us falling apart.

Four years, and then nothing. A clean break. Or so I thought.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked down. Her jaw clenched. I hadn’t seen her in person since the breakup. And now, suddenly, she was in my dressing room hallway like no time had passed.

And then I saw it.

Her hand.

Resting on her stomach.

Something in me just… stopped.

No more noise. No more fans. No more show. Just her. Just that.

“Kaori…” My voice cracked. “What…?”

She looked up, finally meeting my eyes.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” she said, her voice low, almost trembling. “I didn’t know how else to tell you. I found out last week. I didn’t plan this.”

My heart was hammering in my chest. “Are you…?”

She nodded. Slowly.

“I’m pregnant, Agustín.”

The words hit harder than the applause ever could.

Pregnant. With my child.

And suddenly, everything we’d run from, everything we thought was broken, came rushing back in a wave I wasn’t ready for. I blinked, tried to breathe, tried to say something. Anything.

But all I managed was a whisper.

“You came here alone?”

She hesitated. “Yeah.”

My throat tightened. I ran a hand through my hair, stepping back. Part of me wanted to hug her. The other part wanted to scream. Because how did we get here? After all the love, after all the fights, after the distance and decisions…

“I didn’t want to ruin your show,” she said softly. “But I didn’t know if you'd pick up if I called. I just… I thought you deserved to know.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, and the question came out sharper than I intended. “Are you okay?”

She looked exhausted. Like she'd been carrying this alone.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just… I’m scared. And I didn’t want to do this without you.”

And that broke me.

Because we had broken. But this… this wasn’t just about us anymore.