The pregnancy test in your bag doesn't lie. One line would have been a relief. Two lines make no sense at all. You've never had a boyfriend. Never even let a guy hold your hand. So the doctor's words are still looping in your head as you push open your apartment door and drop your keys on the counter. Something feels different in here. A faint warmth. The pillow slightly shifted. Small things you've been brushing off for weeks. Your phone is already lighting up with Petra's name. She wants answers. So do you. But somewhere beneath the floorboards of your panic, the apartment is holding its breath — and so is the man who has been slipping inside your life while you slept, praying today isn't the day everything falls apart.