I thought we were fine. I was sure we were fine. Now, after combing through every second of the past few weeks for any clue about what the problem could be, I find only one: I pushed too hard.
I didn’t mean to. I was honest when I told her I didn’t want to wait anymore to live what I’d found with her. EveryI love youthat left my mouth was sincere. Every time I called herlovewasgenuine. Every gesture or word meant to show those feelings was real.
And even though Nina never said the words back, I thought she just needed time—to understand herself or feel safe about her own feelings. I didn’t mind. I would give her all the time she needed. I thought she was happy.
Anxiety makes my hands clench into fists as the clock seems to slow, stretching the taxi’s path from the gate to here into infinity. I lift my eyes from the ground when the not-so-silent engine finally hums and track every inch the tyres roll along the road.
The car stops and I come dangerously close to ripping the door off as I yank the handle. Nina pays the fare and thanks the driver with a gentle smile. I don’t even wait for the car to leave before pulling her into a tight hug, unable to shake the fear that this might be the last time she lets me do this. To hell with discretion.
“Are you okay? Is everything alright?” I ask, still holding her, and she takes a deep breath against my chest. Her hand moves slowly up and down my back in a calming stroke.
“I’m okay. Can we go inside?”
“Of course. Of course.” I step back reluctantly.
I lace our fingers and we head into the building. The walk to my office is silent. Every soundless second costs me ten years of my life. I open the door and Nina goes in first. Cowardly, I take a few seconds too many before turning after I close it.
“I’m pregnant,” Nina says from the middle of the room when I finally turn—and I blink.
“Wait—so you’re not breaking up with me?”
“What?” Her brows knit and her face twists in confusion. “Breaking up? And—”
“What did you say?” I cut in when the first words finally pierce the fog of my anxious expectations. My heart starts pounding like a drum and I think I might be getting dizzy. “What did you say?”
Nina blinks a few times and exhales deeply. “I said I’m pregnant.”
For a moment, I freeze. Then my body kicks back in and I rush to her, cupping both her cheeks, locking my eyes on hers, needing confirmation even as a huge smile spreads across my face.
“Pregnant?” My eyes burn—fuck, I wasn’t ready for this. “You’re pregnant? We’re going to be parents?”
Nina nods, up and down, and a tear slides down my cheek.
Her gaze, though, remains strangely flat, and my mind races trying to understand why. The idea that she might not want this pregnancy—that she might not want this child—drops a stone into my stomach. It would make sense. Nina is young. She has plans. Dreams.
“Let’s sit,” I say, taking her hand and guiding her to one of the sofas.
She sits. I go to the minibar, grab a bottle of water, return, open it, and hand it to her. She takes a small sip. I sit beside her and take her hand again.
MyLittle Faestays silent. The lack of expression in her eyes worries me more with every passing second.
“If you don’t want this pregnancy, Nina…” It takes every ounce of strength I have to say the words, but I say them anyway. In the last thirty seconds, I’ve already dreamed up a million things I didn’t even know I wanted—but this isn’t just my choice. Nina needs to know that. She has a choice. With me, she always will.
“No!” She reacts instantly, horror finally flooding her face. Nina stands, breathing hard, staring at me in terror. “Are you insane?” The question comes out almost shouted.
“I wasn’t suggesting anything, love.” I stand too, palms raised in a calming gesture. “I just wanted you to know you have a choice. From my side, there’s nothing in this world I want more than you—than this baby.”
I move closer slowly, testing whether she’ll accept my touch. When she doesn’t step back, I rest our foreheads together, sliding one hand along her neck to her nape while the other stays on her cheek.
“All I want is to be with you forever. I want to marry you,” I confess, my lips barely brushing hers.
“W-what?” she stammers, and I laugh.
“Don’t make me repeat it.”
“If you want me to say yes, you’ll have to repeat it, because that definitely didn’t count as a proper proposal—and I’m a proper lady".”
I laugh, but her smile isn’t the bright one I’ve come to crave.
