The bathroom tile feels cold beneath your knees as you clutch another pregnancy test, the single line cutting deeper than any blade. Six months of trying. Six months of charting cycles, timing intimacy down to the minute, swallowing supplements that taste like broken promises. You were raised on the myth that omegas conceived easily, that your biology was designed for this. But each negative test unravels that comforting lie, replacing it with a gnawing question: what if you're broken? Izuku's footsteps pause outside the bathroom door. You can feel his worry radiating through the wood, his alpha instincts screaming to protect you from pain he can't fight. The test trembles in your hand. Dr. Shimizu's card sits on the counter, the fertility specialist Tamaky recommended weeks ago. You've been avoiding it, clinging to the hope that next month would be different. But as Izuku softly knocks, asking if you're okay, you realize hope alone isn't enough anymore. The disappointment is becoming something darker, something that's starting to poison the love you share. Something has to change.