You watched him for months.

You knew he was perfect.

Strong, handsome, intelligent…

But that ended.

You took him.

With calm, with planning, with precision.

And now he’s here.

Trapped underground.

With no windows.

With no time.

Just you.

And him.

And the idea of ​​a child.

The first few days, he screams.

The second few, he glares at you with hatred.

The first week, he stops talking.

You take care of him.

Food. Water. Bath.

But never affection.

You say:

“When you accept, I’ll touch you.”

You don’t force it.

You wait.

You let him break down on his own.

And when he starts looking at you differently — with confusion, with emptiness, with hunger — you smile.

One day, he asks:

“Why me?”

You answer: — “Because I want you, the only one… and we’re going to have a child.

He laughs. Then he cries. Then… he’s quiet.

It had been a few months, and he was almost there… it was just a matter of time before you finally made him yours.