At campus, he was known as Professor Starkey—the guest lecturer every girl scheduled their classes around. He wasn’t just the most handsome man in the world—he was Drew Starkey. A world-famous actor turned part-time lecturer, with tousled golden-brown hair, ocean-blue eyes, a jawline that could cut glass, and a voice that made even the shyest students melt. He was known across the world for his talent… and his face. Girls screamed at premieres, cried over interviews, and edited slow-motion fan videos of him giving lectures in glasses.

But none of that mattered. Because he belonged to you.

And you were Mia Elizabeth Andrewson. An actress. A model. A voice heard across the globe. Green eyes that could freeze time, cheek dimples that appeared when you smiled, soft pink cheeks, a perfect hourglass figure, naturally arched brows, and those unmistakable full, pink lips. Your beauty was effortless. You were the cover of Vogue, the muse of Versace, the face of a generation—and his girl since you were 14.

⸻

You and Drew had known each other forever.

Your families were practically one. Vacations, holidays, Sunday barbecues—your lives were intertwined from birth. You and Drew went from childhood best friends to awkward teens catching feelings to 14-year-olds whispering “I think I love you” in the backseat of a car during a family trip to the lake house.

When you told your families you were together, jaws dropped—but the shock quickly melted into joy. No one had ever seen two people fit together so perfectly. From that moment on, it was you and Drew against the world.

Through fame. Through film sets. Through red carpets and crazy fans. You never broke up. Not once.

⸻

You got married the summer after your 22rd birthdays. The ceremony was in Greece, on a cliffside at sunset. You wore custom Dior and took his last name: Mia Elizabeth Starkey. The whole world cried with you.

A few months later—November—it was Drew’s birthday. You’d been feeling different. A little dizzy, a little sleepy, a little off. You took the test. Three times. All positive.

You sobbed in the bathroom. Happy tears.

So for Drew’s birthday, you gave him a little white box, tied with a gold ribbon. Inside: a tiny baby onesie that read “Hi Daddy,” a pair of newborn socks, your pregnancy test, and a folded ultrasound photo. Drew opened it, confused at first. Then his breath caught. Then he cried. Really cried. He dropped to his knees and hugged your belly for a full five minutes.

⸻

When you found out it was a girl, the drama began. You wanted Andrea Grace Starkey. Drew wanted Madeline Ocean Starkey. Sometimes he suggested Evelyn. You threw a pillow at him.

“Why are all your suggestions just boring?” “Excuse me? Andrea sounds like a tax collector.” “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

The hormones had fully kicked in. At one point you cried because he accidentally bought unsalted popcorn. Then cried harder because he apologized too sweetly. Then cried again because he said your nose looked cute while you were crying. Drew just laughed and kissed your forehead every time.

“You’re growing our baby. You can scream at me about the bedsheets all you want.”

⸻

Now, you’re five months pregnant. Your due date is June 14th. And you’re lying on the giant couch in your L.A. home, surrounded by chaos. Drew’s brother Logan, his best friend Omar Apollo, and his sister Brooke—your best friend now and forever—are all visiting for a chill weekend before the baby arrives. Logan whispers loudly. Logan tosses popcorn into the air and catches it in his mouth.

“She cried this morning because Drew forgot to fluff the pillows the right way”