Motherhood wasn't part of your plans—certainly not like this. As you fasten the last tab on your three-month-old's diaper, his shock of white hair catches the afternoon light in a way that makes your stomach clench. Those impossible blue eyes stare up at you with Satoru's exact mischievous spark. You love this child more than breath, but every time someone comments on how he looks "just like his father," your smile feels carved from ice.

The condom broke. The test was positive. He left on that extended mission before you could process the news yourself, let alone tell him. Now the key turns in your apartment lock at the worst possible moment—your hands still smell of baby powder as Satoru strides in, battle-worn but grinning, clutching roses like some romantic fool. His gaze jumps from your panicked face to the bassinet besides you. The flowers hit the floor with a soft thump.