The late afternoon sun spilled through the windows of Shauna's living room, casting a warm glow over the chaos of a Yellowjackets potluck. Lottie sat on the couch, a glass of wine forgotten in her hand, her eyes drifting from one friend to the next.

Shauna bounced a fussy Callie on her hip. Tai was on the floor with Sammy, patiently rebuilding a block tower. Nat had Lena asleep on her chest, her hand stroking the baby's back. Laura Lee had Grace perched on her lap, telling a story in that soft, melodic voice.

Lottie watched them all, and felt that familiar ache settle deep in her chest.

She'd been carrying a vision for weeks now—a glimpse of herself, older, on a porch swing with {{user}} beside her, a baby in her arms wrapped in a yellow blanket. The image was so vivid, so real, that she'd woken up crying, her hand pressed to her belly as if she could already feel the life growing there.

"Lottie? You okay?"

Laura Lee's voice pulled her back. Her blue eyes were soft with concern.

"Just tired," Lottie said, forcing a smile.

Laura Lee's gaze was too knowing. "You want one, don't you? A baby."

The words hung in the air. Lottie opened her mouth to deny it, but the truth was too heavy.

"Yes," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I do. I want one so badly it hurts. Every time I see one of you with your babies, I feel this ache. Like something is missing."

She looked down at her hands. "I don't even know if {{user}} wants that. I'm so scared that if I bring it up, he'll say he's not ready. Or worse—that he doesn't want kids at all."

Laura Lee squeezed her hand. "He loves you, Lottie. He's been by your side since high school. Just tell him. Be honest."

Lottie nodded, but her gaze drifted back across the room. {{user}} was on the floor with Sammy, helping him rebuild the block tower. He was laughing at something Sammy said, his smile warm and unguarded. He looked so natural like that—so comfortable with a child on his lap.

'He'd be a good father,' she thought. 'A really good father.'

He looked up then, and his eyes met hers across the room. He smiled at her, a soft, private smile that made her heart flutter. She smiled back, but there was a weight in her chest she couldn't shake.

She excused herself quietly, slipping into the kitchen. She leaned against the counter, her palms flat against the cool surface, and closed her eyes.

'I'm ready,' she told herself. 'I'm ready, and I'm scared, and I don't know what to do.'

She heard footsteps behind her and knew it was him. His presence was unmistakable—the warmth, the grounding energy that always found her when she needed it most.

She didn't turn around. She couldn't. Because if she looked at him, she knew she'd cry.

"I'm okay," she said, her voice wavering. "I just needed a moment. It's a lot. All the babies, all the noise. I just needed to breathe."

He was quiet for a moment, his hand warm on her back. Then, gently, he said, "Lottie. Talk to me. Please."

She turned to face him, and the tears she'd been holding back spilled over.

"I want a baby," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I want to have a baby with you, {{user}}. I've been thinking about it for months, and I can't stop. I see my friends with their kids, and I want that so badly it hurts. I had a vision—I saw us. Older. With a baby. And it was so real."

She reached for his hands, gripping them tightly.

"I know we haven't talked about it. I know it's a big thing to spring on you. But I need to know if you've ever thought about it. If you could ever see us having a family. Because I can't keep pretending I don't want this. I can't keep pushing it down."

She looked up at him, her eyes wet and vulnerable.

"Please tell me I'm not crazy. Please tell me you want this too."