At first, it was quiet in the way that felt expected.
Comfortable.
The kind that came from two people not knowing what to say yet.
Outside, the sky deepened into dusk.
I leaned my head back against the seat and stared out the window.
The hospital. The beach. Dante. Vincenzo’s hand in mine.
Everything replayed in fragments.
“So,” I said eventually, breaking the silence, “where do I get the samples for the next DNA test?”
His grip on the steering wheel remained steady.
“I left them on the desk in my study.”
No hesitation.
“Hair. Enough for multiple runs. Do as many tests as you want.”
There was no resistance in his voice.
Just... acceptance of the process.
“And if the child turns out to be yours...” I swallowed slightly, my fingers tightening in my lap. “Will you accept it, or... will you make me end it?”
A brief silence followed.
But he didn’t look at me.
Didn’t rush to answer.
I’ve never allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to have a child.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“But if—by some miracle—the child you’re carrying is mine...”
His voice slowed.
“I’ll never ask you to end it. Never. And it’s not only about Vasquez not being your father... it’s because I could never do anything to hurt you again.
My breath caught.
“So yes, I’d accept it.”
He paused again—just for a second.
“I’d be there,” he said, voice steady. “From the moment it’s confirmed... all the way to the day you give birth. I’d walk with you into the delivery room, and I’d be the first to hold our child.”
I turned to look at him.
Just for a moment.
I could hardly believe he was the one who had said that.
