You’ve been nauseous for days. Dizzy, tired, unable to hold anything down. You thought it was stress, work, life, everything piling up, but deep down, something felt… off. So you finally drag yourself to the doctor, expecting a prescription, maybe a vitamin deficiency.

But when she walks back in with the test results, her expression changes everything.

You’re pregnant.

And not just pregnant. Five months.

Your ears ring. Your brain blanks. Five months? No. That can’t be right. That would mean…

Your stomach drops.

Mallorca. The hotel room. The night you and Xavier crossed the line you swore you’d never cross. Friends. Just friends. But then there was too much wine, too much laughter, too much heat in his eyes when he looked at you like he’d finally seen you for the first time.

You stare at the wall, heartbeat racing, hands numb. Your first instinct was clear, you’re not ready. You can’t do this. But the doctor’s voice was calm, clinical. Five months is too far along to choose otherwise.

You’re having this baby. And it’s his.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and your heart skips before you even see the screen.

Xavier "Hey luna, shall we meet today to watch movies and walk Coco?"

Coco. The dog you gave him for his birthday. The one he can’t live without. The nickname he only uses with you, luna, warm and low, always teasing.

He doesn’t know. Not yet. And you don’t know how to tell him.