the dusty montana air hung still as {{user}} stared at the two pink lines. twenty-something years old and pregnant. with aaron. her brother sam’s best friend. aaron, all weathered leather and kind eyes, who’d teased her about climbing trees as a kid and taught her how to properly saddle a horse. aaron, who was…forty-seven.

the memory of that blurry night at the bar flickered in her mind. too much whiskey, a shared laugh that lingered too long, and then…his calloused hand in hers, the unexpected warmth of his lips. she’d dismissed it as a drunken mistake, a moment of weakness fueled by cheap beer and years of comfortable familiarity twisting into something unfamiliar.

now, the undeniable truth sat heavy in her stomach. she could practically hear sam’s booming laughter turning into a thunderous roar. aaron? his best friend? the man who’d been a fixture at their ranch for as long as she could remember?

she pictured his face, the lines around his eyes crinkling when he smiled, the way his big hands moved with such gentleness when he worked with the horses. he was a good man, a steady man.

a wave of nausea washed over her, stronger than the morning sickness. this wasn’t just about her anymore. it was about sam, about aaron, about this unexpected life growing inside her. how could she tell them? how could she face the storm that was surely coming?