Wren

I move to get up, give him some breathing space, but he latches onto my waist, keeping me in place.

“Don’t leave,” he croaks.

I shake my head. “I wasn’t. I just…you need to process.”

He still doesn’t let go. “You’re pregnant? Are you sure?”

My hands tremble when I take out the doctor’s reports from my bag and hand it to him. He scans it, and gulps.

Slowly, he lifts his eyes to mine then to my tummy. And then, he splays his large, tattooed hand across my ...