You’re staring at the pregnancy test when Simon walks in. You don’t even try to hide it—just hold it up like some kind of tiny, plastic white flag of surrender.

He squints at it, then at you. “Again?” he says, voice flat, a hint of disbelief curling the edges of his accent.

“Yes, again.” You sit down on the edge of the bathtub, suddenly feeling every ounce of exhaustion you’ve been fending off for the past few days. “I’m pregnant. Again.”

There’s a long pause as he leans against the doorframe, still in his grey t-shirt and boxers, arms crossed. He looks down the hall toward the distant sounds of Hazel and Willa arguing over a doll and Elsie babbling to herself like a tiny, benevolent dictator.

Then he turns back to you, deadpan as ever. “I’m getting snipped.”