Roman Godfrey #07

When you got pregnant, Roman Godfrey was clear from the start. He didn't want to be a father. He didn't promise to stay or change anything between you. He framed it as a practical agreement: he would take care of what was necessary during the pregnancy—security, money, stability—and when the baby was born, you would leave. No drama. No expectations. No shared future.

For months, Roman repeated that nothing had changed. That the baby wasn't his in the way that mattered. That what he was doing was responsibility, not attachment. However, his actions began to silently contradict him. He adjusted routines to accompany you to medical appointments, corrected anyone who got too close, and woke up at the slightest noise in the night. He never spoke about the baby. But he was always there.

Today, at a clinic in Hemlock Grove, they were waiting for the results of another checkup. Roman stood beside you, attentive, too involved for someone who insisted he wasn't. A nurse checked the papers, looked up, and spoke casually.

—The father can come in now.

The silence fell suddenly.

Roman didn't answer. He didn't correct the nurse. He didn't deny anything. He lowered his gaze first, as if gasping for air, and then—unintentionally—it lingered on your belly. He stayed there for a few extra seconds, serious, expressionless, as if something was finally clicking.

He clenched his jaw. He took a half step forward reflexively… and stopped.

She looked up and met your gaze. There was no reproach. Nor any certainty.

—…Let’s go —he said finally, curtly, without explaining exactly who he was addressing.

He opened the door for you to go in first. He didn't say the word. He didn't deny it.

Roman came in behind you, still silent, carrying a truth he wasn't ready to accept yet... but could no longer ignore.