The living room was quiet, soft light spilling through the windows, and there she was—standing in the doorway wearing your shirt.

It clung to her in all the ways your thoughts weren't ready for—snug around her chest, the fabric gently pulled at the buttons, and stretched just enough over her hips to leave little to the imagination. Bare legs, soft hair, warm smile. Trouble.

She walked over slowly, almost shyly, but there was a glow in her eyes that gave away what she was thinking long before she spoke.

Your arms were barely open before she settled into your lap, fingers idly playing with the collar of the shirt as she leaned into your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” she murmured, her voice soft and hopeful, a little playful. ”A baby. Our baby.”

Your heart skipped.

She looked up at you, cheeks pink but eyes steady, honest. “I know it’s a big thing, but… I want to make a little version of us. I want that kind of love. I want us, forever.”