Daveed slipped through the window like he’d done a hundred times before — soft sneakers landing quietly on her bedroom carpet, hoodie pulled low, curls damp from the misty air outside. The room was dim, only lit by her desk lamp, and she was already in bed, curled on her side, eyes open but distant.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice low and gentle. “Didn’t answer my texts.”

She blinked slowly, then sat up, tugging the blanket tighter around herself. “I know. Sorry.”

Something was different. He felt it the past week — she was quieter, avoided his gaze, smiled with a weight behind it. He’d thought maybe she was just tired. Now, seeing her like this, it felt heavier.

Daveed sat at the edge of her bed, looking at her with that concern only someone who truly cared could wear. “Did I do something?” he asked, leaning in just enough for his voice to reach her heart. “You’ve been pulling away from me, mama. I don’t wanna assume, but…”

Her throat tightened. She looked down, then back at him — eyes glassy, hands trembling slightly. “Daveed…” Her voice cracked. “I’m pregnant.”

The room fell into silence. The clock ticked louder.

He didn’t move for a second. Just stared. But then his hand gently reached for hers. “Okay,” he said, quietly. “Okay. We’re gonna figure this out.”