After three years of trial and error, Chris and Morgan are now committed to giving the "normal" life a try.
Old habits die hard, though, which they come to find out when trouble inevitably finds them.
Sweeping things under the rug, the couple just...
"It took everything to get here, but here is ours"
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The afternoon sun angled through the tall window and spilled across the floor, lighting up the walls like a clean sheet of paper. The crib parts lay scattered around us in quiet chaos—wooden beams, screws, instructions, soft padding still wrapped in plastic. Chris was on the floor in front of me, cross-legged, hunched over the manual like it was some ancient scroll. I was just passing him tools. Or I had been.
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I must've stopped, without realizing.
"Alright, next piece—it should be the locking rail or the—uh..." Chris's voice trailed off, still reading. Then, a pause. "Morgan?"
I didn't answer. I was sitting on my heels, shoulders low, hand curled loosely around a silver bolt I hadn't handed him yet.
"Morgan?"
I blinked. It felt like waking up underwater.
When I looked up, he was facing me now. His expression shifted from confusion to concern, softening like he already knew.
"We never talk about it..." he said, reading my mind.
My stomach flinched. I let out a quiet, awkward laugh—more out of reflex than anything else. It sounded small and wrong in the bright room. "I didn't think you wanted to."
He frowned. Not mad, just... hurt. He dropped the Allen wrench beside him with a soft clink and leaned back on his hands, letting out a breath. "Of course I want to."
I finally looked at him, just for a second, then away again. "You weren't really there."
Chris didn't argue. He just shifted forward and knelt beside me. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. "I hate that you felt alone."
I shook my head slowly, the movement loose, like my neck couldn't hold the weight of everything I wasn't saying. "I didn't want you to go through that with me," I said, still staring at the floor. "Honestly, I wish you never knew."
There was silence. Not heavy, just full.
Then his hand found my stomach—warm and gentle, resting like he was grounding himself. His thumb brushed beneath the hem of my pullover, where the soft fabric met skin. I looked down at his hand first, then—finally—up at him.
