It’s haunting.Heartbreaking. Her.
She doesn’t look up when I walk in. She just drags her brush in slow, trembling strokes, layering shadow into bloom. I press a kiss to her temple. She still doesn’t move.
I sit on the edge of the bed, forearms braced on my knees, and breathe in deep.
“Mi Bella.” My voice comes out low. Careful. “I think it’s time to take the test.”
She stills. Her brush stops mid-stroke. Then she sets it down and turns toward me, eyes glassy, mouth trembling.
“Donovan, I can’t. I…” Her breath catches. She presses her hands over her face. “I don’t want to ruin anything. I don’t want to ruinus.”
My heart cracks at the sound of her crying.
I move to her without hesitation, dragging my knees along the floor until I’m in front of her.
“Baby girl,” I whisper, cupping her hands, peeling them gently from her face. “You could never ruin us.Never.You are my life. My love. Stella—you’re myfuckingwife.”
I lift her hand and press a kiss to her ring, just above the gold.
“Through thick and thin, for better and worse, remember?”
She leans forward and wraps her arms around me. I hold her like she might disappear.
But then—her voice breaks again, soft and devastating.
“Donovan… I don’t…” She swallows. “I don’t want kids.”
I still. She's still holding on. But I feel the shift. The tilt.
“Not like… notnow,” she continues. “Not ‘someday.’ I mean—I don’t want them.At all.”
The world stops spinning.
There’s no anger. No explosion. Just a crack inside me—a slow, seismic shift.
I nod. Once.
Because I need her to feel safe. Because she’s trembling, and I love her more than I love anything. But inside?I’m coming undone.
Because I’ve always wanted this. A little life with her eyes. Her stubborn streak. Her laugh. A piece of her I could hold in my arms. I wanted to watch her become a mother. To be beside her through it all.
Iwanted that.
And she doesn’t.
She doesn’t want it with me. She doesn’t want itat all.I hold her tighter. Bury my face in her neck. I tell myself this is enough, thatsheis enough.
I tilt her chin gently, and I kiss her. Soft. Tender. The kind of kiss that says,I’m still here.
Then I whisper, “All I’ve ever needed is you.”
And I mean it. But the ache doesn’t go away. It settles—quiet and bitter—in the back of mymind. Waiting.
Stella grabs my hand and silently leads me into the bathroom. She pulls out both boxes of tests—rips them open with shaking hands—and, without a word, disappears behind the door.
The flush sounds. Then the water is running. Then silence. She reappears, pale and quiet, and sets both tests on the counter. Digital. No room for guessing. We slide down the wall together, settling on the cold tile floor.
She leans into me, curling into my lap. I hold her close, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other stroking through her hair like I can calm the storm inside her.
