The storm outside mirrored the storm inside you.

You’d spent the last hour pacing the marble floor of your en-suite bathroom, heart racing, stomach flipping with something far more volatile than nausea. The pregnancy test sat facedown in the bin beneath a tissue—hastily tossed, like pretending it wasn’t real would make it disappear. You told yourself you’d throw it out properly later. That he wouldn’t look.

You were wrong.

Jake never came home early—not without blood on his knuckles or tension in his jaw. But tonight, as the clock struck 11, you heard the front door open. Quiet, deliberate footsteps. No words. No noise from the living room. Just silence. Which, with Jake, was worse than rage.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, pretending to scroll through your phone when he entered the room.

His black dress shirt was slightly undone, the holster peeking out beneath his shoulder. But you weren’t looking at that.

You were looking at the white stick in his hand.

The test.

His fingers gripped it tight enough to crack it, but his expression wasn’t anger—it was betrayal. Eyes dark. Lips parted, as if he wanted to speak but didn’t know how.

“I wasn’t snooping,” he finally said. “I was throwing out the wrappings from the stitches kit.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Your throat burned.

“I thought you said you didn’t want kids with me,” he added quietly. There was no venom in his voice, just a gut-wrenching vulnerability. “You told me—you told me—you didn’t trust me enough to bring a child into this world.”

You stood, the air heavy between you. “Jake, I—It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t plan it.”

He took a slow step forward, voice lower now, trembling at the edges. “But you were scared to even talk to me about it? You wanted to keep this from me? Lie to me?”

You looked away. “I wasn’t trying to lie. I was trying to think.”

His laugh was bitter. “Think about whether you were going to run? Or if I was too much of a monster to be a father?”

You flinched. He saw it.

Jake’s posture shifted—shoulders relaxing, voice softening. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, you know…”

You finally met his gaze. “You’ve killed people, Jake. You disappear for nights. You come home bloody. I didn't want to raise a child afraid of you.”

He didn’t answer for a long moment.

Then: “I’d leave it all.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

He stepped closer, cradling the test between both hands like it was something sacred. “If it meant keeping you—and our child—safe. I’d walk away. From all of it.”

Your walls, the ones you’d built so carefully, cracked just a little.

“I didn’t know you’d feel that way,” you whispered.

“I never thought I’d get to feel anything like this,” he said, placing the test gently on the dresser. “But if there’s even the chance you’ll let me be a father… I won’t waste it.”

His hands hovered, waiting for permission. When you didn’t pull away, he cupped your cheeks and rested his forehead against yours.