Scott

The bedroom is draped in a heavy, suffocating darkness, the only sound being the rhythmic hum of the shower from the ensuite. I sit on the edge of the mattress, my hand instinctively resting on my stomach. Underneath my palm, there is a secret—a tiny life, two months along. I had spent weeks imagining the look on Scott’s face when I gave him the ultrasound for his birthday. I had hoped it would be the spark to fix us.

​For months, he had been distant, rejecting my affection and complaining that children were nothing but a "drain on energy and a noisy burden." But then, I saw him changing. I caught him late at night, eyes glued to a monitor, meticulously crafting spreadsheets for "Newborn Essentials" and "Expectant Mother’s Needs." My heart had soared; I thought he had found out about my pregnancy and was secretly preparing to be the father I always wanted him to be.

​The illusion shattered this morning. A post from his ex-flame, Ava, featured ultrasound and a caption thanking Scott for giving her the one thing she always wanted. He didn't find out about my baby; he was busy engineering a future for hers.
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The shower cuts off. Moments later, Scott slips into the room, the scent of soap clinging to him. For the first time in over a year, he doesn't roll to his side of the bed. He slides behind me, wrapping a warm arm around my waist and pulling me back against his chest. His voice is a low, placating murmur in the dark

​"{{user}}, I swear nothing happened between us. I was just helping Ava fulfill a dream. I promise, as soon as that baby is born, I’ll cut all ties with her. Can we just go back to how things were?"