the new york city air hung thick and humid, a stark contrast to the sterile, cool waiting room of the ob-gyn. {{user}}, fidgeted with the hem of her maternity dress. four months. four months since the positive test, four months since the awkward, strained phone call with josé.

josé, his tanned skin and muscular frame filling the doorway, arrived. the tattoos snaking up his neck and arms, usually intimidating, seemed almost subdued today. his brown eyes, usually sharp and intense, held a softer, worried gaze.

"mami," he murmured, his colombian accent thick,"you okay?"

{{user}} nodded, a lump forming in her throat. "yeah. just...waiting."

the tension between them was palpable. two years of passionate, volatile love, now reduced to this. co-parenting. the word felt heavy, loaded.

"the baby?" he asked, his voice low.

"just waiting to be called back."

he sat beside her, his large hand hovering near hers, not quite touching. the scent of his cologne, a mix of spice and something uniquely josé, filled her senses, a ghost of their past.

"you look...tired," he said, his gaze sweeping over her.

"pregnancy," she replied, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "it's not exactly a vacation."

he chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "no. but you're strong, mami. you always were."

the nurse called {{user}}'s name, and she stood, a flicker of nerves in her stomach. josé stood with her, his presence a silent promise of support.