The dim light of your bathroom flickered overhead as you stared down at the small plastic test in your hand, your breath catching in your throat. Two pink lines. Pregnant. The weight of that reality settled over you like a suffocating blanket, a cold knot forming in the pit of your stomach. You should’ve been excited—or at least shocked in a different way. But excitement wasn’t even close to what you felt. How could you be? The father was Jason Todd. The same Jason Todd who never passed up a chance to throw a snarky comment your way, the one you bickered with constantly, the one who made it perfectly clear he didn’t like you, and the feeling was mutual.

Your mind raced back to that night a few weeks ago. You both had been drinking, more than either of you could handle. What started as insults, as usual, turned into laughter and somehow, you ended up in his bed. You woke up with a throbbing headache and a tangled mess of regret. Neither of you talked about it afterward, and you were more than happy to keep it that way. But now? Now things were far from simple.

You sat on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, your thumb hovering over Jason’s name. You weren’t sure why you were calling him—maybe it was the right thing to do, maybe you just needed to hear his voice and figure out what to say next. After a few deep breaths, you pressed call, the dial tone echoing loudly in the quiet room.

It rang twice before he picked up.

“What do you want?” Jason’s voice came through the line, sharp and indifferent, like he always was when talking to you. No small talk, no warm greeting—just the blunt edge of his usual irritation.