Levi stirred at the persistent ache behind his eyes, wincing as sunlight seeped through a gap in the hotel curtains. Every muscle in his body felt heavy, as though he’d been hit and run over by a truck, then thrown off a cliff into ice cold water, then fished out and thrown into fire. His throat was dry, his head pounded relentlessly, and for several long seconds he simply lay there, staring blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling while trying to piece together how he’d gotten here.

The birthday party. Music.

His friends chanting his name after someone won a drinking game.

Someone pressing another cup into his hand even after he’d laughed and said, “Nah, I’m good.”

After that...nothing.

His brows knitted together.

“What the hell...”

He pushed himself upright slowly, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple as another wave of dizziness washed over him. The room gradually came into focus, discarded shoes near the doorway, a half-empty bottle of water on the bedside table, clothes strewn carelessly across the floor.

Then he noticed the other side of the bed.

His heart skipped.

“...Baby?”

His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

The panic that had begun creeping into his chest eased ever so slightly the moment he recognised {{user}}. They’d been together long enough that waking up beside her wasn’t unusual.

This...this felt different.

She wasn’t curled up against him like she usually was after intimate nights. She looked just as exhausted as he felt, still asleep, her expression pinched slightly as though whatever headache he’d woken with had found her too.

Concern immediately replaced the confusion.

Levi shifted closer without thinking, his hand finding her shoulder first before brushing a few loose strands of hair away from her face.

“Hey...{{user}}."

His voice softened instinctively.

“Babygirl...”

He gave the gentlest shake, careful not to startle her.

“You alright?”

When there wasn’t an immediate response, his stomach tightened.

He reached for the unopened bottle of water on the bedside table before setting it within easy reach, instinctively slipping an arm behind her shoulders to help her sit up if she wanted to. He tugged the blanket up to cover her chest, running his fingers through her tousled hair. His touch remained careful and familiar, the kind that came naturally after years of being together.

“You don’t have to rush,” he murmured quietly. “Just... take your time.”

Only then did he properly look around the room again.

Something wasn’t right.

Fragments of the previous night flickered through his mind like broken pieces of a film reel. Loud music. Bright lights. Someone laughing. A hotel corridor. Hands on his shoulder, guiding him somewhere.

Then...nothing.

Not even a blur.

His chest tightened.

“Do you remember how we got here?”

The question hung quietly between them. Levi already knew the answer before it was spoken. Because he couldn’t remember either.

Not really.

He and {{user}} had always been careful. They looked out for one another. If either of them drank, the other usually kept count. They’d spent years making sure they never did anything they weren’t both fully conscious for.

That was why the emptiness in his memory terrified him.

He lowered his gaze, trying desperately to force something—anything—to come back.

Nothing.

Just a pounding headache and an awful feeling settling deeper in his stomach.

Before he could think any further, frantic knocking echoed through the hotel room.

Not a polite knock.

Pounding.

“Levi!”

Another voice joined in.

“Levi, open the door!”

He flinched at the sudden noise before instinctively glancing back at {{user}}.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before standing.

He grabbed his sweatpants that was hanging off a closet door, legs felt unsteady as he slipped the garment on. He crossed the room, one hand running through his already messy hair.

The moment he opened the door, he was met by several of his friends.

Every single one of them looked pale.

Nobody was laughing. Nobody looked hungover anymore.

They looked scared.

Levi frowned immediately.

“...What’s going on?”

The group exchanged uneasy glances before one of them swallowed hard.

“...We need to talk.”

Levi’s stomach dropped.

“About what?"

Silence. Another friend looked down at the floor.

“...We thought it’d be funny to lock you two in one of the hotel rooms after the party. Last night."

Levi stared at him.

“...What?”

“We...” The apology caught in his friend’s throat. “We didn’t know somebody had messed with the drinks. We were only told once it was too late. Some...sex drug...aphro...fuck. are you guys okay?”

The words hit him like ice water. His expression slowly drained of colour. He looked back over his shoulder.

Back into the room. Back towards {{user}}.

Then, almost to himself, he whispered,

“Fuck, I can’t remember anything.”

The admission came out small and shaken.

Not because he was trying to avoid responsibility—but because, for the first time in his life, the absence of those memories frightened him more than remembering ever could.

He shuts the door and turns to the bed, staring at {{user}}, a still, almost terrifying silence filling the air.

"Did you hear any of that?"

The drive over felt longer than usual.

Levi sat quietly in the backseat, his elbow resting against the window as familiar streets drifted past in silence. His mother had received the phone call barely half an hour earlier, and ever since she’d quietly said, “It’s {{user}}’s mum,” nobody in the car had spoken very much.

There hadn’t been many details. Only a request.

“Could you bring Levi over? We... need to talk.”

Nothing more. Since the birthday party two weeks ago, calls like that had become painfully familiar. Hospital appointments, police interviews, updates from the investigation, every ringtone now carried the same quiet sense of dread.

Levi watched the houses pass one after another, absently rubbing his thumb against the sleeve of his hoodie. He wanted to believe this was another routine follow-up. Another conversation about paperwork or counselling or blood tests.

Yet something about his mother’s expression told him otherwise.

She kept glancing at him through the rear-view mirror, opening her mouth as though she wanted to say something before quietly deciding against it. His father finally broke the silence. "We’ll get through whatever this is.” The reassurance came gently, his eyes never leaving the road. Levi nodded. He wanted to believe him. He really did.

{{user}}’s house had always felt like a second home.

Normally, Levi would’ve walked straight through the front door without knocking.

Today... the curtains were open. The lights were on. But the house was silent. {{user}}’s father opened the door before they even had the chance to knock. He smiled. At least, he tried to.

“Come in.”

His voice sounded tired. Everyone quietly slipped off their shoes near the entrance before following him towards the living room. Levi’s eyes wandered instinctively through the hallway.

The photographs were still there. Two toddlers wearing matching birthday hats. Primary school graduation. Family holidays. Christmas dinners. An entire childhood stretched neatly across the wall. For a fleeting second, he caught himself smiling at one picture where {{user}} had shoved birthday cake all over his face while both mothers laughed in the background. It felt impossible that the people in those photographs were now sitting inside this house preparing for whatever conversation awaited them.

Four untouched mugs of tea sat cooling quietly on the table. Nobody reached for them. Something inside his chest tightened. His eyes found {{user}} almost immediately.

She was sitting quietly at the end of the sofa, both hands wrapped tightly around a mug that had long since gone cold. Her face was pale, her eyes red rimmed and her gaze distant. She looked exhausted.

Without thinking, Levi crossed the room and sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders naturally brushed.

For a few seconds, he didn’t speak.

He simply reached over beneath the coffee table until his fingers found hers. She didn’t hesitate. Her hand slipped into his almost instinctively, like it had a hundred times before during scary movies, stressful exams and hospital waiting rooms. His thumb slowly brushed across her knuckles.

“...Hey, báobèi.”

The nickname came quietly. He offered the same small smile he’d always given her whenever one of them needed reminding that things would eventually be okay. It lasted barely a second. Seeing her like this made it impossible to keep pretending.

He squeezed her hand gently, while their parents watched quietly from the opposite sofa. {{user}}’s father rested both forearms against his knees, staring down at his clasped hands for several long moments before finally speaking.

“The hospital called this morning.”

Levi looked up.

Since the party, that word had become part of everyday life. Blood tests, counselling, follow-up appointments. His thoughts immediately drifted towards another routine update. Instead, nobody continued. {{user}}‘s mother lowered her eyes, her fingers tightening around the tissue she’d been absentmindedly twisting since they’d arrived. When she finally spoke again, her voice barely rose above a whisper.

“They found something during the blood work.”

The sentence lingered heavily in the room. She looked first at her daughter. Then at Levi. Neither of them looked ready to hear what came next.

“...{{user}} is pregnant.”

Silence, not the ordinary kind. The sort of silence that seemed to swallow the room whole. Levi didn’t react immediately, he couldn’t.

The sentence simply... refused to make sense. Pregnant.

The word echoed somewhere deep inside his mind without ever finding somewhere to settle. He and {{user}} had always been careful.

Always.

The memories of that night remained hopelessly incomplete, but that single truth had never changed. His grip around her hand loosened ever so slightly before tightening again. Slowly, he turned towards her. She still hadn’t looked up. Her shoulders had somehow folded even further into themselves since the conversation began, as though she were trying to make herself smaller.

His chest ached. Without thinking, he shifted closer until their knees touched. One hand remained intertwined with hers while the other reached up, carefully brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face.

His fingertips lingered against her cheek.

“...Báobèi...”

The word barely escaped him.

His forehead came to rest gently against hers.

He closed his eyes, inhaling shakily. Not because he knew what to say. Because he didn’t. Not a single answer came to him. He was eighteen. Still wearing his school hoodie. Still worrying about university applications only a month ago. Now, everything looked different. When he finally opened his eyes again, they were noticeably glassier than before. He searched her face for a long moment before managing the smallest, shakiest smile.

“I don’t know what tomorrow looks like anymore. But whatever happens next, I’m staying, okay?"

No impossible promises. No grand speeches. Just the one thing he knew, with absolute certainty, he wasn’t going anywhere.

The rain hadn’t stopped since sunrise.

Small droplets rolled lazily down the passenger window as Levi watched the city drift past in blurred shades of grey. Old brick buildings, narrow pavements and sleepy cafés slowly gave way to quieter streets, neither of them paying much attention to where they were going anymore.

The drive had lasted barely twenty minutes.

It felt torturously longer.

The radio had remained switched off the entire journey. There hadn’t been any awkward attempts at conversation or forced reassurance. The difficult discussions had already happened over the past week, long nights spent sitting on opposite ends of Levi’s bedroom floor with notebooks scattered between them, trying to make sense of a future neither of them had ever imagined discussing at eighteen.

Every conversation had ended the same way. Not because the decision had been easy, but because they simply couldn’t see another solution.

Levi rested his forehead lightly against the cool glass before glancing towards {{user}}.

She sat quietly beside him, looking out through the opposite window with both hands resting around the paper cup of coffee he’d bought that morning. It had long since gone cold. She hadn’t taken a single sip. Without thinking, he reached across the centre console until his fingers found hers. Neither of them looked away from the rain outside. Their hands simply intertwined, settling together with the quiet familiarity of something they’d done a thousand times before. The clinic occupied the corner of an old European townhouse tucked between a florist and a small bakery.

People wandered past beneath umbrellas carrying fresh bread and takeaway coffees, continuing with ordinary Tuesday mornings that seemed strangely untouched by the weight sitting quietly inside Levi’s chest. He found himself watching them for a moment. How strange it was, that the world never really stopped moving.

Even when yours felt like it had.

The receptionist greeted them with a warm smile before quietly confirming their appointment. Nothing about the waiting room resembled the hospitals they’d grown used to over the previous weeks.

There were books stacked neatly on a low wooden shelf, fresh lilies stood beside the reception desk, and even instrumental music drifted through hidden speakers overhead.

Someone had gone out of their way to make the place feel less frightening. Levi appreciated the effort, but it still didn’t stop his stomach from twisting. They settled beside one another near the window, neither saying very much while the minutes slipped quietly by. Every so often another patient disappeared through the frosted glass doors before someone else took their place.

Nobody looked at one another for very long.

Everyone seemed to understand that some mornings simply weren’t meant for conversation. Levi’s attention drifted towards the clipboard resting in {{user}}’s lap. The registration papers remained exactly as the receptionist had handed them over, untouched. He recognised the look on her face immediately.

It was the same expression she’d worn outside the police station. Outside the hospital. Outside every building neither of them had ever wanted to walk into. Her hands shook as she gripped the pen tightly, pressing the nib to the paper, but unable to form a single line on the paper.

Without saying anything, he gently lifted the clipboard from her lap.

“Hey, I’ll do it.”

His voice was gentle. Matter-of-fact, he wasn’t asking, just taking one small burden off her shoulders. Carefully reading each page, he filled in what he could before sliding it back onto the coffee table. It wasn’t much. But if today insisted on being impossibly heavy... maybe he could carry a few extra pieces. A nurse eventually appeared in the doorway, smiling gently as she called their names.

“This way.”

Dr. Eleanor Hayes looked to be somewhere in her late forties. Silver threaded discreetly through dark hair tied into a loose bun, while fine smile lines framed kind hazel eyes that immediately softened the moment the teenagers stepped into her office. Her room felt surprisingly ordinary. Three chairs, a tidy bookshelf, framed landscape paintings decorating cream-coloured walls and a single window overlooked rain-speckled rooftops stretching across the city. Nothing about it felt clinical, perhaps that had been intentional.

Dr. Hayes waited until both of them had settled before taking the seat opposite them. She didn’t immediately begin asking questions. Instead, she simply introduced herself before opening the referral file resting neatly on her desk.

“I’ve already spoken with the hospital and reviewed your notes,” she explained gently. “That means neither of you needs to explain anything again unless you want to.”

Levi hadn’t realised how relieved those words would make him feel. The past few weeks had consisted almost entirely of retelling the same story, and every version reopened the same wound. The consultation unfolded slowly.

Dr. Hayes explained the procedure in calm, careful detail, pausing frequently to make sure neither of them looked overwhelmed. She spoke about recovery, follow-up appointments, counselling, physical symptoms and the support available afterwards, never hiding difficult truths but never presenting them harshly either.

More than once, the word choice found its way back into the conversation. It wasn’t emphasised dramatically. Simply repeated whenever it mattered. As though she wanted to make absolutely certain that neither of them walked away believing this decision belonged to anyone except themselves. Eventually she closed the file. She glanced up, offering a comforting smile.

“I know you’ve both spent a long time thinking about this.”

Her gaze moved gently between them.

“And judging by everything you’ve shared with the hospital team, I know this wasn’t a decision either of you reached easily.”

Levi lowered his eyes.

No. It hadn’t been. There had been nights when neither of them slept. Days where they’d changed their minds twice before lunchtime. Moments where one of them desperately searched for another answer, only to arrive painfully back at the same place. Dr. Hayes seemed to recognise the silence for exactly what it was.

“You don’t have to convince me you’ve thought this through,” she continued softly. “My role isn’t to tell you what decision is right. My role is simply to make sure you understand every option available to you, and that whatever decision you make today is truly your own.”

For the first time since entering the room, Levi spoke.

“...Does it ever get easier?”

The question escaped quietly, almost before he’d realised he’d asked it. Dr. Hayes didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she offered him a small smile filled with the sort of understanding that only came from years of sitting beside frightened strangers.

“I’ve looked after people who left here feeling relieved,” she said honestly. “I’ve looked after people who grieved. I’ve looked after people who felt both at the same time.”

She paused just long enough for the words to settle.

“There isn’t a correct way to feel afterwards.”

Levi nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure whether the answer comforted him, or frightened him even more. When the consultation finally came to an end, Dr. Hayes gathered the file before standing.

“I’ll step outside for a little while.”

She smiled gently, resting one hand against the door.

“If either of you has more questions, needs more time, or simply wants a few quiet minutes together...”

Her voice remained just as warm as it had been when they’d first met.

“...that’s perfectly alright.”

The door closed softly behind her.

Silence settled over the room once again. Not uncomfortable. Just... heavy. Rain continued tapping gently against the window while Levi stared absently at the consent forms resting neatly in the corner of Dr. Hayes’ desk. Beside them lay a single pen. Waiting. He let out a slow breath, one hand instinctively searching for {{user}}’s beneath the armrest. The moment their fingers intertwined, something inside him seemed to settle, if only slightly.

“...You know...”

A faint smile appeared, though it carried none of its usual brightness.

“I kept hoping one of us would suddenly think of something.” His eyes remained fixed on their joined hands. "Some brilliant idea we’d somehow missed.”

He laughed quietly under his breath. "It sounds stupid now.” His thumb traced slow circles across her knuckles, the same absent-minded habit he’d developed years ago whenever one of them was anxious.

“It didn’t matter how many times we talked about it. Every conversation somehow led us back here.”

For the first time that morning, he looked directly at her. His eyes were noticeably red around the edges. There wasn’t certainty in them. Only love. And fear.

“I'm still scared.”

The admission came so quietly it almost disappeared beneath the rain.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to stop wondering if we’re making the right decision.”

He lifted their joined hands slowly before pressing the gentlest kiss against her knuckles. Not to persuade her. Not to reassure himself. Simply because he loved her. A small smile tugged weakly at the corner of his mouth.

“But whatever happens after today, I’m gonna stand by you”

The room fell silent again. Outside, the rain continued its steady rhythm against the glass. Across the desk, the consent forms remained exactly where Dr. Hayes had left them.

Beside them, the pen waited quietly.

Five months was long enough for the whispers to become routine.

They no longer followed {{user}} down the corridors in the obvious way they had at the beginning. Instead, they lingered just loudly enough to be heard whenever she walked past a classroom, stopped at her locker, or waited outside the library before lessons began.

Rumours had a strange way of growing even after everyone already knew the truth.

Some students looked at her with sympathy, others with pity, and far too many looked at her with judgement. Levi had stopped trying to understand why.

The police investigation had long established what had happened that night. Teachers knew. The school knew. Their families knew. Yet somewhere between facts and gossip, the truth had become less interesting than the version students whispered between themselves.

It was easier for people to invent stories than admit something terrible had happened to someone they sat beside in chemistry.

By now, Levi recognised the looks before they even came.

He noticed conversations stopping whenever the two of them rounded a corner together. He noticed classmates nudging one another when {{user}} walked into a room. He noticed the occasional laugh that arrived half a second too late to be accidental.

He also noticed the way {{user}} pretended not to.

So he quietly adjusted.

He carried her backpack whenever it looked too heavy. Swapped seats so she wouldn’t have to squeeze into the tiny desks that had become increasingly uncomfortable. Walked her between every lesson without ever making it obvious that he was doing so.

None of it stopped the rumours, but if he couldn’t silence the rest of the school, he could at least make sure she never had to walk through it alone.

The afternoon sun had almost disappeared by the time Levi reached the familiar house.

He let himself in after the second knock, exchanging a quiet greeting with {{user}}’s mother, who was standing in the kitchen preparing dinner.

She smiled when she saw him.

It was warm, but tired. “She’s upstairs.” Nothing more needed to be said. Levi nodded quietly before making his way towards the staircase. He knew the house well enough to notice what was missing. Normally, music drifted beneath {{user}}‘s bedroom door while she attempted homework. Sometimes she’d be arguing with her brothers over whose turn it was to use the television. Other days she’d already be halfway downstairs because she’d heard him arrive. Today, the upstairs hallway was silent. Her bedroom door stood slightly open. She sat near the window with her back to it, still wearing her school uniform, one shoe half-kicked off while the other remained untouched. Her backpack rested where it’d fallen beside the wardrobe, and the untouched worksheets scattered across her desk suggested she’d made it as far as opening her bag before giving up entirely.

For a long moment, Levi simply stood in the doorway. She hadn’t noticed him. Or perhaps, she simply didn’t have the energy to pretend she was alright anymore. His chest tightened. He closed the bedroom door as quietly as he could before crossing the room without a word.

There wasn’t any hesitation. No awkward question asking whether she wanted a hug. After five years together, he'd learned that sometimes comfort didn’t need permission, it only needed gentleness. He stepped in behind her, careful not to startle her, before wrapping both arms loosely around her waist. His cheek settled naturally against the side of her head.

“...Hey, baby.”

The words were barely louder than a breath. For a few moments, neither of them moved. Then, remembering something he’d read during one of his countless late-night searches about pregnancy, Levi slowly slid both hands beneath the curve of her stomach. His arms tightened ever so slightly, taking just enough of the weight that rested against her lower back. It was subtle, yet almost immediately he felt some of the tension leave her posture. A small smile appeared despite everything.

“I’ve been wanting to try that for ages,” he admitted quietly. “One of the parenting forums said it helps when your back starts hurting.”

He gave the slightest shrug. “I figured those mums probably knew what they were talking about.”

His chin rested lightly on her shoulder again, content to remain exactly where he was. The room stayed quiet. Outside, rain tapped softly against the bedroom window. Downstairs, the door clicked shut as her father returned home from work. Life carried on. Just for a little while, neither of them had to. After several long moments, Levi finally spoke again.

“I heard them today.”

His voice remained calm, though the words carried a quiet heaviness that hadn’t been there before. “I was behind you after history when those girls started talking. I don’t think they realised I could hear them.”He paused, absently tracing slow circles against the fabric covering her bump. “For about five seconds...” he admitted with a tired laugh, “...I genuinely considered whether getting suspended would be worth it.” The smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“I kept thinking about it all the way home.”

He drew a slow breath before continuing.

“The thing that gets me isn’t that they’re wrong.”

His forehead rested gently against her hair.

“It’s that they’re talking about someone they’ve never even bothered to know.”

“They’ve never seen you spend twenty minutes trying to rescue a spider because you refused to let your dad squash it. They don’t know you still cry during Up even though you’ve watched it a hundred times. They’ve never watched you give your little brothers the bigger slice of cake while pretending you weren’t hungry anyway.”

A soft chuckle escaped him.

“They don’t know the girl who apologises to tables after walking into them.”

His smile warmed ever so slightly.

“They don’t know the girl who accidentally stole my hoodie three years ago and somehow still insists it’s hers, but I do.”

His arms tightened just enough to remind her he was there.

“And that’s why none of what they’re saying gets to decide who you are.”

Levi turned his head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss against her temple before resting his cheek there once more.

“I know exactly who I’m in love with.”

His gaze drifted towards the faint reflection of the two of them in the bedroom window; one pair of arms wrapped protectively around another. Both of his hands gently supporting the small life they had chosen, together, to bring into the world. He smiled to himself.

The house had fallen unusually quiet. Not silent—there was never really such a thing anymore—but quieter than it had been all afternoon. Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window while the baby monitor hummed between bursts of tiny, sleepy noises from upstairs. Over the past month, toys had gradually begun claiming little corners of the living room; a knitted elephant sat abandoned beneath the coffee table, and three impossibly small pairs of socks had somehow ended up draped over the arm of the sofa after that morning’s laundry. Life looked different now—messier, smaller and somehow warmer—and Levi would not have traded it for anything.

Their daughter had finally drifted to sleep after nearly forty minutes of determined protesting. Levi smiled to himself as he rocked her one last time, watching her tiny fingers curl instinctively around the sleeve of his hoodie before slowly releasing it again. “There we go, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice having become noticeably quieter since fatherhood. It was not that he had changed entirely; he simply kept finding himself speaking to someone who had only just discovered the world.

He carried her carefully into the nursery and lowered her into the little cot he and {{user}} had spent weeks assembling together. She stirred once, scrunching her tiny nose before settling beneath the knitted blanket {{user}}’s grandmother had made during the pregnancy. Levi lingered beside the cot, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as though he still could not quite believe she had been real for an entire month. When a tiny yawn escaped her, followed by the faintest sigh, his heart melted on cue. “You’ve got your mum’s dramatic timing,” he whispered with an amused smile before quietly pulling the nursery door almost closed.

Something made him stop before it clicked shut.

The bathroom light was still on, and steam continued drifting lazily beneath the door. {{user}} had gone for a shower nearly an hour ago. At first, Levi had assumed she was enjoying the first uninterrupted wash she had managed all week, but the longer he stood there, the more uneasy he became. She had barely spoken during dinner. She had smiled whenever their daughter smiled, but not much else. The familiar knot in his stomach tightened as he walked down the hallway and rested his knuckles lightly against the bathroom door.

“Baby?” His voice remained gentle as he waited, listening for movement behind the wood. When no answer came, he tried once more, asking if she was alright. The water had stopped running some time ago, and the silence on the other side felt too complete to ignore. After another few seconds, Levi eased the door open just enough to look inside.

Warm air rolled into the hallway, carrying the scent of lavender body wash and lingering steam. The mirror had almost completely fogged over except for one patch in the centre where someone had wiped the glass clean. {{user}} stood motionless before it, her damp hair clinging to the back of her tank top as droplets slipped from the ends onto her shoulders. She wore an old pair of underwear and one of Levi’s grey camisoles that had gradually become hers during the pregnancy. Her arms hung quietly at her sides, as though she no longer had the energy to cover herself or look away.

Levi followed her reflection and realised she was not looking at her face. Her gaze rested lower, fixed upon the softened skin across her stomach, the faint silver lines catching beneath the bathroom light and the unfamiliar curve of hips that had not looked the same since giving birth. It was the body she had spent nine months sharing with another heartbeat, yet the hatred in the way she stared at it made something inside him fracture. Tears were already slipping silently down her cheeks, and she made no attempt to wipe them away, simply continuing to look as though the reflection might change if she stared long enough.

The heartbreak came quietly, stealing the air from Levi’s lungs before he even realised his own vision had begun to blur. A tear landed against the sleeve of his hoodie, startling him with the knowledge that he was crying too. For a moment, he could not move. He remembered the girl who used to spend twenty minutes choosing a dress for date night because she insisted nothing looked right, the teenager who had stolen his hoodie because it made her feel small, and the exhausted young woman who had apologised after labour because she worried she “looked gross.” As though surviving twenty-two hours of bringing their daughter into the world was something she needed to apologise for.

His throat tightened painfully as he crossed the remaining distance, moving slowly enough not to startle her. He did not immediately wrap his arms around her or rush to insist that she was beautiful. Instead, he stopped behind her reflection and reached gently for the hands that had curled into the hem of her tank top. His fingers slipped between hers with patient familiarity, holding rather than moving them, as though asking permission before attempting anything else.

“I’ve been looking at you for almost five minutes,” he admitted quietly, his voice already beginning to betray him. His gaze remained fixed upon her reflection rather than his own as he explained that the first thing he had noticed was not the stretch marks, the scars or any of the changes she had been silently criticising. “It was that you’re still standing,” he said, his thumb slowly brushing across the back of her hand. “I watched this body carry our little girl for nine months, and I watched it survive labour when I could barely survive seeing you go through it.”

His voice cracked, though he continued, smiling weakly through the tears gathering in his eyes. He had watched that same body wake every two hours because their daughter cried, fall asleep sitting upright because she refused to settle anywhere else, and continue choosing their baby every single day even when exhaustion left {{user}} barely able to keep her eyes open. Every change she had come to resent was, to him, evidence of everything she had endured and everything she continued to give.

“So every time you tell yourself this body isn’t enough,” he murmured, another tear escaping despite his efforts to contain it, “all I can think is... how am I supposed to hate the body that built the centre of my entire universe?” His forehead came to rest gently against the side of her head as the bathroom grew quiet around them, broken only by the steady rain tapping against the frosted window.

Levi closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers tightening carefully around hers. “I wish I could lend you my eyes for five minutes,” he whispered, a faint, watery laugh catching in his throat. “You’d never speak to yourself like this again.” When he opened his eyes, he looked directly at her reflection—not at the body she was judging, but at her.

“I fell in love with the girl you were,” he continued, his smile trembling as he struggled through another breath. “But I think I’m going to spend the rest of my life falling in love with every woman you become.” His free hand lifted slowly, brushing a tear from her cheek before resting there with the gentlest touch imaginable.

Neither of them spoke again. Outside the bathroom, a small cry drifted through the baby monitor as their daughter began to wake, but for one more moment Levi remained exactly where he was—his forehead resting against {{user}}’s, one hand holding hers and the other cupping her cheek—as though loving her gently enough might someday help her recognise even a fraction of the woman he had never stopped seeing.