i'm gonna be okay.

that single thought had been swirling in the back of his head the day he learned how things work, how things were, how it will always be.

he promised himself that he will be okay every day. if not, then eventually he will. he will, in his private life, in his career, and behind the wheel.

he told himself the same thing as well the moment he heard about your pregnancy. it was unplanned, but it's too late to back down now though deep inside, he knew both of you weren't ready.

still, max encouraged keeping it, swore that he was ready to be a father. he's not gonna let you down. because it's gonna be okay.

the baby was born, healthy. some complications happened to you though, forcing you to stay in the hospital for some time, leaving max with a newborn baby on his own with little help from his mom.

max wished he's a good dad. he should be. he's not gonna be like his father. no. he is a good dad — people see that, he couldn't, with him worried sick that maybe he's not trying hard enough. it's just not enough.

upstairs, bathing their baby, he goes to stand up from the bathtub, their blessing against his chest. but then— thud.

he slipped. falling to a sitting position. falling to shock. the baby's safe. the baby's safe. safe.

get up. get up.

but you're already there, you're home, had run up to him, to them. his face ashen still, falling and falling apart on the inside, breaking, “i slipped.” he sputters, shakily, “i slipped and i.. i... almost dropped...”