The rain has been falling steadily since the moment you and Simon stepped out of the store. Not a violent storm—just the kind of cold, soaking rain that seeps into your bones if you let it. He kept the bag balanced in one arm while holding the umbrella over your head with the other, angling it almost entirely toward you without a word. You noticed…but didn’t comment. That’s how he is now. Quiet about it. Intentional.

By the time you’re both inside the car, shutting the doors with soft thuds, the world outside blurs into streaks of silver and gray against the windows. The heater hums to life. The sudden warmth makes your shoulders relax.

You exhale.

Simon doesn’t start the car right away. Instead, he turns slightly in his seat and looks at you—really looks at you. His gloved hand reaches out and gently adjusts your seatbelt where it rests across your chest, making sure it isn’t pressing too tightly.

“You good?” he asks.

Not rushed. Not panicked. Just steady.

“Yeah,” you answer softly. “Just tired.”

He nods, accepting it without making it something bigger than it needs to be. Then his hand drifts lower, resting briefly over your belly through your coat—not possessive, not urgent. Just grounding.

⸻

The groceries sit between you in the back seat. Soup, crackers, fruit, prenatal vitamins—things the two of you never paid attention to in the past, now chosen carefully. Thoughtfully. Life changing in small, ordinary ways.

The rain drums softly against the roof as Simon finally pulls out of the parking lot. The wipers move in steady rhythm. The city lights smear into watercolor through the window.

You watch the road for a while before speaking.

“You didn’t have to come in with me,” you say gently. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”

He glances at you briefly. “Didn’t mind.”

You know that’s true. But you also know why he came in—the slippery floor, the crowd, the way the cold makes your joints ache lately. He won’t list the reasons. He never does. He just adjusts his life around you quietly.

“You okay with the heat?” he asks after a moment.

“Yeah. It feels nice.”

He nudges it just a fraction warmer anyway—just in case.

The rain grows heavier the closer you get to home. Traffic slows. Simon’s jaw tightens—not with anger, but focus. You recognize it from a hundred other moments. He keeps his distance from other cars, gentle on the brake, careful with every turn. Not because he’s nervous.

Because you’re in the passenger seat. Because your future is sitting right there with you.

You shift slightly, one hand resting over your belly now.

Simon notices immediately.

“Pressure?” he asks.

“No. Just… weird feeling,” you whisper.

His eyes flick to you, then back to the road. “We’re five minutes out. If it gets worse, we stop.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t speed. He just stays calm—and that alone makes the feeling ease.

⸻

By the time the apartment building comes into view through the rain, you’re exhausted in a soft, heavy way. Simon parks in your usual spot and turns off the engine. For a moment, neither of you moves.

“You don’t have to get out yet,” he says. “I’ll grab the bags.”

You shake your head. “I can walk. I just don’t want to carry.”

He studies your face for a second, then nods. “Deal.”

He’s out of the car first, circling around to your side without rushing but without hesitation either. The rain soaks into his sleeves instantly as he holds the door for you.

When you step out, he automatically places his hand at the small of your back to steady you on the slick pavement. You lean into it without thinking.

For just a moment—standing there in the rain, the hum of the engine still warm behind you, the city quiet around your little bubble—you realize how deeply, completely you trust him.

Not because he’s fearless. Not because he’s perfect. But because every day, in ways small and real and human…

He chooses you. And the life growing between you.