The sunlight streamed in through the penthouse windows, casting a warm glow over the sleek, modern bedroom you shared with Tony.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the words you’d been carrying for weeks now sitting heavy on your tongue. It should have been a moment of joy, a moment to celebrate. But the weight of Tony’s worsening condition had turned your excitement into anxiety. You couldn’t keep it from him any longer.

“Tony,” you called softly, trying to catch his attention. You took a deep breath and covered his hand with yours. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you, but… I’m pregnant.”

His expression faltered. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you, processing. And then, instead of the joy you had hoped for, his face hardened, his hand slipping out of yours.

“Don’t,” he muttered, standing up abruptly. “Don’t say that.”

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head, pacing the room. “It’s not possible. It’s not mine.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Tony, of course it’s yours. I haven’t—”

But he cut you off, turning to face you with a look of disbelief and anger. “I’m dying, okay? You’ve seen the tests. The palladium—it’s in my blood. There’s no way I can—” His voice cracked, his frustration spilling over. “I can’t have kids. Not with this poison running through me.”

Your heart shattered at his words, at the doubt in his eyes. You stepped closer, reaching for him, but he pulled away, shaking his head. “Tony, I would never—”

“How can you expect me to believe that?” he snapped, his voice rising, the exhaustion and fear boiling over into anger.