The living room glowed softly with Christmas lights, the tree standing half-decorated between you and Hector. Tinsel hung unevenly, a few ornaments already clinking gently against the branches. Christmas music played low in the background as you laughed, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Hey—stop putting all the good ornaments on your side,” you teased, reaching for one he’d just hung.

He laughed, holding it just out of reach. “Excuse you, this side has better lighting. I’m thinking about aesthetics.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling anyway. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, looking at you with that familiar warmth. “But you love me.”

And you did. In that moment, everything felt safe. Normal. Happy.

Then your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You weren’t even suspicious at first—just glanced at the screen out of habit. A message preview lit up. A name you didn’t recognize. And words that made your stomach drop.

We need to talk. I’m pregnant. You can’t keep pretending I don’t exist.

Your smile faded.

“Hey,” Hector said immediately, noticing the change in your face. “What’s wrong?”

You stared at the screen, rereading it as if it might change. Your hands began to shake.

“Who is she?” you asked quietly.

He froze.

The music kept playing. The lights kept blinking. Everything else felt suddenly too loud.

“What?” he said, a little too quickly.

You looked up at him, eyes glossy. “Don’t lie to me. Who. Is. She.”

His face drained of color. The ornament slipped from his fingers and hit the floor, not breaking—but the sound echoed like it did.

“I—” He stopped, exhaled sharply, and rubbed his face. “I can explain.”

Your chest tightened. “Explain what, exactly?”

Silence.

That was enough.

“You’re cheating on me,” you whispered. “Aren’t you?”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you knew before he even spoke.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “But it’s not—”

A bitter laugh tore out of you. “Not what? Not what I think? Because it looks lik