I pace the sterile fucking hallway, blood on my hands — your blood. Not mine. It should’ve been mine.

The image of you — limp, pale, barely breathing — keeps replaying behind my eyes like some twisted loop I can’t turn off. I hadn’t even realised I was shaking until the nurse appeared in front of me, voice soft but detached.

“She’s stable,” she said.

I exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. My chest finally moved. My lungs worked again.

But then she kept talking.

“We ran some tests due to the trauma… she’s in the early stages of pregnancy.”

Everything inside me stilled.

“What?” My voice came out sharp, barked like a fucking threat.

She repeated it like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just set fire to my entire life with a single sentence.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant.

I don’t go in. I just stand there like a coward, like a child bracing himself for the punishment he knows is coming. My hands ball into fists at my sides — still stained with your blood, still trembling. My mind can’t keep up. I’m going to be a father. No. I can’t be.

My chest tightens. Not with awe. Not with joy. With rage.

And panic. And this sick, crawling pressure that coils around my ribs and won’t let go.

His voice is already in my head.

“You’ll give me an heir one day, Harry. A son to carry the legacy. To lead when you’re gone.”

No. No, no, no. That was never going to happen. I swore it. Promised myself I’d end it with me. I’d burn the entire bloodline to ash before I ever passed it on. And now… now it might be a boy. A boy he’ll groom. Mold. Poison. Just like he did with me.

The thought makes me fucking sick.

When I finally step inside, you’re just waking up. Eyes fluttering open like you’re trying to climb your way out of a bad dream. You’re pale, fragile, hooked up to more wires than I can count — and still, somehow, you try to smile when you see me.

I look away.

“You knew?” I ask, my voice low but sharp. “Did you fucking know?”

You flinch. Fuck. I hate myself instantly.

“Harry— I didn’t… I just found out too.”

You sound honest. Quiet. Scared.

I rake a hand through my hair, fingers tugging roughly at the roots. I can’t breathe. “This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking happening.”

You try to sit up, wincing at the effort, and I’m across the room before I realise I’ve moved. My hand hovers near yours but doesn’t touch. I want to, but I can’t. If I touch you, I might fall apart.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I mutter. “You weren’t supposed to get dragged into this more than you already were.”

Your voice cracks. “Dragged into what, Harry? Your life? You mean our life?”

“No.” My jaw clenches. “My life. The one I never fucking chose. The one he carved into my skin since I was a kid.”

I start pacing again. My fists won’t unclench. My heart’s a war drum in my chest.

“And now you’re fucking pregnant.” A hollow laugh escapes me. “What if it ended up being a boy? That’s what he wants. That’s all he’s ever wanted. He’ll sink his claws into him before the kid can even speak.”