The clock read 8:42 p.m. when the driver pulled up in front of the building where {{user}} lived. Miguel didn't usually drop in unannounced, but tonight he didn't feel like himself. He'd spent the morning in his office, reviewing financial reports while his mind drifted again and again to a simple, almost cold message:

"Everything went well. The baby is healthy. Week 12 over."

That was it. No emojis. No exclamation points. But she knew him well enough to know that, in {{user}}'s restrained language, those few words meant relief, even joy. And for reasons she couldn't quite accept, he needed to see her.

He walked up the steps of the building without a word, a paper bag in his hand. No flowers, no gifts. Just a box of organic aromatic tea—the one she'd inadvertently mentioned during a previous conversation—and a jar of manuka honey. Little details that didn't seem like him... but lately, a lot of things didn't. I knock softly on the door, waiting to announce his arrival.