The train was packed, bodies swaying gently with each curve of the track. You stepped inside, the weight of a long business trip clinging to your shoulders, your heels clicking against the floor as you pulled your suitcase behind you. There were no seats—not that you expected any at this hour—but still, a quiet sigh escaped your lips. You found a spot near the door and leaned back against the cold metal, one hand instinctively resting on your bump.

Four months. You could hardly believe it sometimes. After everything with your ex—the betrayal, the heartbreak—you thought the dream of being a mother had slipped away. But then the test turned positive. And when he told you he wanted no part in it, you didn’t fall apart. You chose strength. You chose joy. You chose your baby.

You looked good. You knew it. Your body hadn’t changed much, aside from the gentle swell beneath your blazer. Slender, petite, polished—you wore your pregnancy like it was made for you. And in a way, it was.

Across the aisle, Grayson was watching you. Not in a rude way—just aware. You hadn’t noticed him at first. He blended into the scene like any other tall, broad-shouldered guy in a hoodie and ball cap. But he wasn’t just any guy. There was something striking about him—an ease in his posture, a quiet confidence in the way he sat. You didn’t recognize him. Sports had never interested you.

He stood without a word and gestured toward his seat. You blinked, caught off guard.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice low and warm. “You should sit.”

You hesitated only a second before nodding, murmuring a soft thank you as you slid into the seat he’d just left. Your body eased gratefully into the cushion, and you glanced up at him. He didn’t return to scrolling on his phone or looking away like most would. He just leaned back on the wall across from you, arms crossed, eyes still kind.

You didn’t know who he was. But somehow, that didn’t matter.