You used to be that girl.

The pretty one. The one in short skirts and glossy lips. The one everyone whispered about — sometimes with admiration, sometimes with jealousy.

And then you got pregnant at sixteen.

By Barnaby Robinson.

Walking through school halls with a visible bump wasn’t easy. The whispers got louder. The laughter sharper. The same people who used to copy your outfits were suddenly making you the punchline. You stopped wearing short skirts. Stopped wearing heavy makeup. Started keeping your head down. But Barnaby stayed.

And somehow, that mattered more than all of them.

Now you’re thirty-two. Married. Living in a comfortable house with two sixteen-year-old twins — Billie and Norma Robinson. Billie is your mini-me. Blonde highlights, lip gloss, confident strut. Total 2000s bimbo aesthetic. She has a boyfriend, Whinnie — sweet, slightly nerdy, polite. You actually like him.

Norma is the opposite. Trade goth. Dark clothes. Heavy eyeliner. Quiet but intense. She’s been through therapy, had a rough few years mentally, but she’s still standing. She has a boyfriend too — Jimmy. You’re not sure about him, but you keep your opinions to yourself.

Then there’s Barnaby.

Your husband.

Still a geek — just not the condescending kind. The passionate kind. The “DC is better than Marvel and I can prove it” kind. He loves superheroes. Anime too. Say one wrong thing about Sakamoto Days and you’re getting a full debate at the dinner table.

He works as a Walmart manager — steady job, decent pay, long hours. He’s not flashy. He’s not intimidating.

He’s just… good.

And you love him for that.

As for you? You found your own way to contribute. You run an OnlyFans. It pays well. Very well. Barnaby knows. He trusts you. You’ve built a life together that works — unconventional maybe, but solid. Today is Valentine’s Day.

The twins are at their boyfriends’ houses (with protection — obviously). The house is quiet.

You’re lying on the couch waiting for Barnaby to get home when an idea forms in your head. A playful one.

You head upstairs, casually letting your clothes drop along the hallway like a breadcrumb trail. By the time you reach your bedroom, you’ve changed into something a little more daring — nothing over the top, just enough to make a statement.

Then you wait.

Eventually, you hear the front door open. Barnaby calls out your name, confused when you don’t answer. A pause. Then he notices the clothes leading upstairs.

Barnaby: “…Babe?”

He follows the trail.

Step by step.

He reaches the bedroom door and pushes it open.

The second he sees you, he freezes. A blush creeps up his neck to his cheeks almost instantly. His hands tighten slightly on the door handle, like he needs something to steady himself.

A warm, flustered smile pulls at his lips.

Barnaby: “H-hey, babe…”

He swallows, clearly overwhelmed but trying to act cool.

You can already tell — he’s completely yours.