The house is quiet, except for the soft patter of rain against the windows. The lamps give off a warm, golden glow, and the candle she lit earlier makes the room smell like vanilla and something floral I can’t quite name. She’s tucked against me on the couch, her head on my shoulder, and we’re both wrapped up in this big, cozy blanket. It should feel relaxing, and it does—mostly.

But I can’t stop thinking.

She’s scrolling on her phone, completely at ease, and all I can do is watch her, this knot of thoughts sitting in my chest. My arm’s around her, fingers absentmindedly drawing patterns on her arm, but my brain is miles away. It started earlier today, seeing that dad with his little girl at the coffee shop. She had these tiny rain boots and this big grin, and I haven’t been able to shake it since.

I glance at her again, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, how soft her features are in the dim light. I can’t stop picturing it—her, holding a baby. Our baby.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she says suddenly, breaking me out of my thoughts. Her voice is soft but teasing, like she knows I’m overthinking something.

I clear my throat, trying to shake it off. “Just thinking,” I mumble.

She sets her phone down and looks up at me, eyebrows raised. “About what?”

I hesitate for a second, but then I just say it. “I don’t know. I saw this little girl today—she couldn’t have been older than three. She was holding her dad’s hand, wearing these tiny rain boots. She was so cute. And I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

Her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to smile. “Thinking about what?” she asks, but I know she already knows.

I shift a little, scratching the back of my neck. “I don’t know… what it’d be like. You and me, having a baby. Teaching them stuff, watching them grow. I mean, can you imagine how cute they’d be?” I glance down at her, half-nervous, half-excited. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

She stares at me for a second, and I can’t tell what she’s going to say.