It was the perfect evening—one that had everything you could ask for. You were curled up on the couch with your husband, Luke, his arm draped over your shoulders. Beer in both of your hands, a movie softly in the background—it was simple, effortless, and warm.

That is, until a particular scene flickered onto the screen. A hospital room. A husband giving a tearful talk to his wife as she prepared for labor. Their voices wavered as they exchanged heartfelt I love yous, clinging to each other.

You felt Luke glance at you. He watched as your expression shifted, as the scene settled uncomfortably in your chest. It was a sensitive subject—one that had caused a rift between you before. Your relationship had weathered its ups and downs, but nothing had ever cut quite as deep as the conversation about children.

That discussion had ended in a fight—one of the worst. Luke had been ready, had wanted a family with you from the moment you said I do. But you? You just weren’t there. Life was chaotic—his career was thriving, filming had him constantly moving. The timing had never felt right.

Clearing his throat gently, Luke reached over, taking the beer from your hand and setting both bottles down on the coffee table. Then, shifting closer, he slid his hand along the back of your knee, pulling you toward him until there was no space left between you.

“So,” he murmured, voice quiet, careful. His fingers traced slow, soothing circles against your thigh. “Think we’re ready to have that talk again? Y’know… the baby talk?”