You’re sitting on the couch, stroking your slightly bulging belly and smiling at the gentle kick you feel. Antony is late, as has been common lately. You enter a storm of thoughts as the sound of the door opening breaks the silence.

“Sorry about the hour,” he says, his voice raspy and tired. But you’ve heard that apology many times before. There’s something tense in the air, an electricity that you know can only mean one thing: argument. And this time, you sense it’s going to be different.

“Antony, we need to talk,” You tell him, forcing yourself to remain calm. You watch as he frowns, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of irritation and concern. He sits across from you, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours. Instead, he stays lost in the view of the city, as if trying to escape the inevitable.

“What is it now?” he murmurs, but you know he doesn’t ask with genuine interest. You’re already used to his lack of attention over the past few days, but this time it hurts more, much more.

“It’s about us, about our son,” You say, your voice cracking. But before you can finish, he bolts upright and starts pacing. “This can’t be real!” he suddenly shouts, echoing through the room.

You’re left speechless, a wave of cold running down your spine as he continues, “Sometimes… sometimes I wish you were Erin. She understood… she knew what this was like, what I’m like.” The room falls silent, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing and the steady drumming of your heart. The mention of Erin Moriarty, his ex, looms like a spectre that’s always been between you, but never as palpable as it is now.

The confession hangs in the air, causing everything around you to crumble. The walls of the apartment, once your refuge, now seem to close in on you. Antony finally looks at you, his eyes shining with belated regret, but it's too late. You've heard what you never wanted to hear.