The late afternoon sun streamed through the curtains of your small, cozy living room. You were curled up on the couch, the hum of the ceiling fan lulling you into a state of peaceful contentment. Rafe sat across from you, nervously tapping his fingers against his jeans, a tell-tale sign of his spiraling thoughts.

Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to guess? he asked, his voice soft but laced with an edge of impatience.

You bit your lip, heart hammering in your chest. You had been working up the courage for hours, rehearsing the words in your head, but now that it was time to say them, they felt impossibly stuck in your throat. “Rafe,” you began, and he instantly sat up straighter, his blue eyes locking on yours. You inhaled deeply, your hand instinctively resting on your stomach. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, the room was so quiet you could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Rafe blinked at you, his expression unreadable. Then he stood abruptly, running a hand through his messy blond hair.

You’re… pregnant? he repeated, as if saying it out loud would make it more real.