Donovan walks through the door just after sunset, his hair damp from the rain, his motorcycle helmet under one arm. He’s smiling at first—until he sees me.
I’m still on the couch, knees pulled up, the plastic pharmacy bag sitting like a landmine on the coffee table.
His smile falters.
“Star?” he asks gently, crossing the room. “You okay?”
I nod. Then I shake my head.
His brows pull together. “Talk to me.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and whisper, “I’m three weeks late.”
The silence is immediate. It lands like a thunderclap.
His whole body stills. Then—
“Wait,” he says slowly. “Late? Like…latelate?”
I nod again.
His breath catches. He sets the helmet down and sinks to his knees, hands curling around my hips like he’s grounding himself—like touching me is the only way to hold all this emotion in. His eyes are wide, bright, and disbelieving. Hope and love and something almost wild blooming across his face.
His hands find mine, cradling them, warm and steady.
“Are you serious?” he breathes. “Stella—fuck. Are we… are you pregnant?”
I flinch. Just barely. But he feels it. His grip loosens for a second, and I look down.
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I haven’t taken the test yet. It’s probably just stress. The wedding. School. Work. That’s all it is.”
He tilts his head, eyes searching mine.
“But there’s a chance, right?”
His voice is wrecked with wonder. With hope.
I don’t answer. I can’t.
He leans forward, presses a kiss to my knuckles, a silent vow.
“If this is real…” he breathes, dropping his forehead to mine, “Stella, this would be everything. You—glowing, growing our baby. Watching you become a mother? That’d be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I flinch—barely—but it echoes.
Because he means well, he meanseverythingwith love.
But ifthat’sthe best thing… what does that make me?
My heart splits in two.
Because all I can think isI never wanted this.
Donovan doesn’t notice the way I stiffen—not at first.
He’s still caught in the moment, in the soft glow of what this could be.
“I’d take care of you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the back of my hand. “Every craving. Every mood swing. Every mile you’d walk with our baby. I’d be there.”
