I didn't sleep.
Not after that.
Not after the way Harley had looked at me—too calm, too certain, like he already knew something I hadn't said out loud.
We're going to talk about this.
The words replayed in my head over and over again, each time tightening something in my chest. They hadn't sounded like a question. They hadn't sounded like concern either.
They had sounded like inevitability.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the darkness stretching around me, the silence pressing in from all sides. Every time I closed my eyes, everything came back—the test, the realization, the way my world had shifted in a single moment.
And then—
Paris.
Fragments of that night kept surfacing, sharper now, clearer in ways I hadn't let them be before. The warmth, the closeness, the way everything had blurred together until I couldn't separate one moment from the next.
The way I hadn't known.
The way he had.
My fingers curled into the sheets.
A slow, burning feeling settled in my chest.
By morning, it hadn't gone away.
If anything—
It had grown.
—
I heard him before I saw him.
Footsteps outside my door.
A pause.
Then a knock.
"Sophie."
My entire body tensed.
I didn't answer.
"Sophie."
His voice was firmer this time.
Closer.
More present.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my hand against my stomach as if that could steady me.
"Go away," I said quietly.
The words felt weak the moment they left my mouth.
There was a brief silence on the other side of the door.
Then—
"No."
My eyes opened.
My chest tightened.
Of course not.
He wouldn't leave.
Not now.
Not after yesterday.
The door handle turned.
I sat up quickly, my heart racing as he stepped inside without waiting for permission.
Harley closed the door behind him, his gaze immediately finding mine.
There was no hesitation in his expression.
No uncertainty.
Just that same quiet intensity that had been there the night before.
"We need to talk," he said.
I let out a short breath, something sharp and humorless. "You think?"
He didn't react to the tone.
Didn't react at all.
He stepped further into the room, stopping just a few feet away from the bed.
I hated how close that felt.
"I'm not doing this right now," I said, pulling the blanket tighter around me like it was some kind of shield.
"You don't get to avoid it anymore."
My chest tightened.
"I wasn't avoiding it."
"You've been avoiding me for days."
"Maybe I just didn't want to talk to you."
The words came out sharper than I intended.
But this time—
I didn't take them back.
Harley's expression didn't change much, but something in his eyes hardened slightly.
"Then talk now."
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Firm.
He took another step closer.
"Sophie—"
"I said no."
The tension snapped.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't explosive.
But something shifted between us, something that had been building quietly finally reaching its breaking point.
"You took a test," he said.
The words landed heavily in the space between us.
I froze.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
"I didn't say that," I replied.
"You didn't have to."
My breath felt tight.
"Then stop assuming things."
"I'm not assuming."
"Then what are you doing?" I snapped.
"Trying to understand why you won't tell me something that clearly involves both of us."
The words hit harder than I expected.
Because he was right.
And because I hated that he was right.
"It doesn't involve you," I said.
The moment the words left my mouth, I knew they were wrong.
Harley's jaw tightened.
"That's not true."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
The certainty in his voice made something in me crack.
"Stop acting like you know everything!" I said, my voice rising despite myself.
"Then tell me I'm wrong."
The challenge sat between us.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because I couldn't.
Because saying it would make it real in a way I wasn't ready for.
Harley watched me carefully, his expression sharpening with every second of silence.
"You're pregnant."
The words weren't loud.
But they hit like a collision.
Everything inside me stilled.
My breath caught, my hands tightening in the blanket as I stared at him.
He said it.
Out loud.
Real.
Final.
I felt it in my chest, in my throat, in the way my entire body seemed to freeze around it.
"Say something," he said.
My voice didn't come immediately.
When it did, it came out quiet.
"…You already know."
"Yes."
The single word felt like confirmation.
Like a door closing behind me.
"And it's mine."
It wasn't a question.
I hated that.
I hated how sure he sounded.
I hated that he had every right to be.
My silence answered him.
His exhale was slow, controlled, but I could hear the shift in it.
The realization settling.
The weight of it.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The room felt too small.
Too quiet.
Too full of everything we weren't saying.
Then—
"You should have told me," he said.
Something in me snapped.
"You should have told me," I shot back.
The words came out sharp, immediate, fueled by something I had been holding back without fully realizing it.
Harley stilled.
"What?"
"You heard me."
My chest rose and fell unevenly as everything I had been pushing down finally pushed back.
"You're standing here acting like I kept something from you?" I continued, my voice shaking now, but not from fear. "You're asking me why I didn't tell you?"
His brows drew together. "Sophie, I—"
"No," I cut him off. "You don't get to do that."
His expression hardened slightly. "Do what?"
"Act like this is just my fault."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
The room felt suffocating.
My grip on the blanket tightened as something sharper, something heavier rose up in my chest.
"You knew," I said.
The words came out quieter this time.
More dangerous.
Harley didn't move.
His silence told me everything.
"You knew about Paris," I continued, my voice unsteady now. "You knew what happened."
His jaw tightened.
"Sophie—"
"You knew," I repeated, louder this time. "And you didn't tell me."
The accusation hung between us.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Real.
"I was going to—" he started.
"When?" I demanded.
He didn't answer.
That was enough.
A hollow laugh escaped me, though there was nothing remotely funny about it.
"When, Harley?" I pressed. "After I found out like this? After I had to piece it together myself?"
His expression shifted, something tense, something conflicted flickering through.
"I didn't want to overwhelm you," he said.
The explanation felt weak.
Small.
Compared to everything else.
"So you just let me walk around not knowing?" I said, my voice breaking now despite my effort to hold it together. "You let me think nothing happened?"
"It wasn't like that."
"Then what was it like?"
Silence.
I shook my head, the frustration, the hurt, the confusion all colliding at once.
"You made that choice for me," I said. "You decided what I should know and when I should know it."
His gaze didn't leave mine.
"I was trying to protect you."
The words landed wrong.
Completely wrong.
"I didn't need protection," I said. "I needed the truth."
My chest tightened painfully.
"I had a right to know."
"You do," he said.
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
The question came out softer now.
Not angry.
Just… broken.
For a second, he didn't answer.
And that silence—
That hesitation—
Hurt more than anything else.
"I didn't know how," he admitted finally.
I stared at him.
Disbelief flickering through the pain.
"You didn't know how?"
"You were already dealing with everything between us," he continued, his voice quieter now. "You were overwhelmed. I didn't want to make it worse."
"So you made it worse later?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Because that was exactly what had happened.
Because now it wasn't just the situation—
It was the betrayal on top of it.
Harley's expression tightened.
"I was going to tell you."
"But you didn't."
Silence.
That was all there was.
And suddenly, I felt tired.
Not just physically.
Emotionally.
Completely.
I shook my head slowly, my grip on the blanket loosening as the weight of everything settled.
"I don't even know what to do with this," I whispered.
The anger was still there.
The hurt was still there.
But underneath it—
There was something worse.
Fear.
Real, overwhelming fear.
My hand moved unconsciously to my stomach again, and this time I didn't stop it.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
The room fell quiet.
The tension didn't disappear.
It just shifted.
Changed shape.
Harley took a step closer, slower this time, more careful.
"Sophie…"
I looked up at him.
And for the first time since this started—
I didn't feel angry.
I felt lost.
And that was worse.
—