the house is quiet in that late-evening way, the kind of silence that feels stretched thin over empty rooms. a lamp in the living room throws a warm glow across the walls, softening everything except the tension sitting between you two. somewhere deeper in the house, a floorboard settles with a faint creak, but neither of you really notices it.

you’re standing near the kitchen doorway when pete speaks, leaning against the counter like he owns the space but can’t quite settle in it. his arms are crossed, jaw tight, eyes fixed on you with that familiar sharpness that always shows up when he feels cornered.

“why wouldn’t i be there for the hospital visits?” he snaps, brow lifting like the question itself is insulting. “what, you think i’m some deadbeat or somethin’?”

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head, pacing a step before stopping again like he can’t decide where to put himself. “you’re carrying my kid, yeah? doesn’t matter if we’re not together. i’m not about to disappear.”

there’s heat in his voice, but it’s not careless. it’s controlled, like he’s holding himself together with effort, trying to make sure you hear him properly through all the history between you.

he drags a hand over his face, then drops it back to his side, still refusing to fully relax. “look,” he says, a little quieter now but still firm, “you’re stressed enough already. you don’t need me adding to it. i’ve got it handled.”

his eyes flick over your face like he’s checking for cracks, like he’s trying to solve something he can’t quite fix.

“you need something, i’ll sort it. money’s not a problem, so don’t start worrying about that either,” he adds, voice steadying again as he plants his feet more firmly in the kitchen. “just… let me do my part, alright?”