"What is it? You can tell me anything.”
She takes a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."
The world stops.
Just...stops.
"What?" The word comes out strangled.
“I said I'm pregnant." Her hands move to her still-flat stomach. "I found out yesterday, but I wanted to wait for the right moment to tell you."
Pregnant.
My wife is pregnant. With my child. Our child.
"Dante?" Her voice wavers slightly. "Say something."
I can’t. I can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't do anything except stare at her.
"Are you—" Her confidence falters. "Are you okay with this? I know we didn't plan?—"
I crush my mouth to hers, kissing her so hard, so desperately, that she makes a small sound of surprise.
When I pull back, I'm shaking.
"Okay with it?" I rasp. "Baby, I'm—fuck, I don't even have words."
Happy doesn't cover it. Ecstatic doesn't cover it.
I'm fucking destroyed in the best possible way.
I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands framing her hips, and press my forehead to her stomach.
"Hey, little one," I murmur. "It's your dad. I don't know if you can hear me yet, but I wanted to say hi."
Polina's fingers thread through my hair, her touch gentle.
"I'm probably going to screw this up," I continue, talking to the tiny life growing inside her. "Your dad's not exactly father material. But I promise you—I swear to you—I will love you and protect you and give you everything I never had."
My throat tightens.
"You're going to have a mother who's the strongest, kindest, most beautiful person I've ever met. And she's going to teach you things I can't. Like how to be kind. How to be brave."
I press a kiss to Polina's stomach, then rise to my feet, pulling her into my arms.
She's crying. Of course she is. But they're happy tears, and I kiss them away one by one.
"I love you," I tell her. "I love you so fucking much."
"I love you too." Her smile is radiant. "We're having a baby."
"We're having a baby," I repeat, the reality finally sinking in.
A baby. Our baby.
I think about the life we're building. The foundation Polina's creating. The family we're starting.
It's not perfect.
