**Awakening**
It was a quiet evening when Katie stepped into the room, hands hidden behind her back, grinning like she had a secret. The look in her eyes was pure joy.
I—Alex—smiled back, already expecting good news or maybe even a gift.
“What’ve you got there?” I leaned forward, curious. “Don’t keep me guessing.”
“Look.” She held out her hand. I didn’t recognize what it was at first, but my smile faltered.
“What is it?” I leaned back against the sofa, as if putting distance between us.
“Look closer.” She stepped nearer, still cradling the little object. Then, unable to hold it in, she blurted out, “I’m pregnant!” Her voice trembled with excitement.
*Pregnant.* The word echoed in my head. My smile vanished. I stared at her like she’d turned into a stranger.
Her grin dimmed, like stage lights fading before a show. She clenched the pregnancy test in her palm and slowly lowered her hand.
“You’re not happy?” Her voice quivered—not with joy now, but tears.
“Katie, we agreed to wait,” I snapped, finding my footing. “Did you stop taking your pills?” My voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet.
“I forgot once, and then…” She sank onto the sofa beside me. I shifted away, as if afraid to catch something.
“What were you thinking? Why didn’t you tell me? You *want* to deal with nappies and sleepless nights? You’re still a kid yourself.” I stood up, pacing the room.
“Katie, let’s talk this through properly—”
“I’m not getting rid of it.” Her voice was steel. “He’s already here. I *know* it’s a boy. He’ll look just like you.” Tears glimmered in her eyes.
Her words pinned me in place. She stared at me with defiance, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“Katie, listen—” I sat beside her, pulling her close.
*Yelling won’t help. I need to tread carefully. Gently change her mind.*
She shoved my hand away and stood, as if she’d heard my thoughts.
“I. Am. Not. Ending. It.” Each word was deliberate.
“Katie, I didn’t say that. I was just shocked. I’m sorry.” I caught her wrist, tugging her onto my lap. “Silly girl, of course I love you.” I smoothed her hair, murmuring, “Don’t cry. It’s not good for the baby.”
“You *are* happy?” She swiped at her cheeks.
“Course I am,” I lied. Nine months was a long time. Anything could happen.
—
Weeks passed, and nothing seemed different. I started doubting the test. Maybe it was wrong. But then the nausea hit. She grew pale, barely eating.
We used to go out—cinema, dinners, friends. Now she never left the sofa, complaining of exhaustion. The smell of meat made her ill. I was bored. Trapped.
“Katie, it’s Ben’s birthday Saturday,” I said awkwardly.
“Go alone. I can’t sit at a table for five minutes.” She didn’t even turn around.
Relief washed over me.
At the party, I drank too much, laughed too loud. Came home late. She was still curled toward the wall.
Then her belly swelled. She tossed and turned, sighing, keeping me awake. She cried over nothing, pushed me away. My resentment grew with her waistline.
“When are you marrying her?” Mum asked during a visit. “You can’t leave it like this. His name’s Andrew, isn’t it?”
“A registry office wedding? With *that* belly?”
“You *never* listen—”
“Enough! I get no peace *anywhere*.”
On the way home, I stopped at a pub.
I’d barely fallen asleep when her shaking woke me.
“Alex! Wake *up*!”
“What?” I groaned.
“It hurts. My back, my stomach—”
“Ambulance?” I fumbled for my dead phone, grabbed hers. “Taxi it is. Get dressed.”
She was in the hall, clutching a bag, wrapped in a coat over her nightdress.
“Got your documents? Let’s go.”
We took the stairs slowly. The taxi waited outside.
“St. Mary’s, quick,” I told the driver.
Katie hunched over, gripping her stomach. The cab seemed too small for it. She bit her lip, groaning.
“Nearly there,” I muttered, hiding my panic.
At the hospital, I half-carried her inside.
“Help! Someone!” I banged on the door.
A midwife scowled through the glass. “No need to shout.” The lock clicked. “Come in, love.” She took the bag. “You—wait outside. Call this number.” The door shut in my face.
Through the glass, I watched Katie disappear, bent double.
“Katie!” She didn’t look back.
Four hours later, she had a son. Stunned, I went to Mum’s.
“Congratulations. Right, let’s *shop*, Dad.”
We bought half the baby aisle. That evening, I drank with mates, listening to their horror stories about newborns.
“What’re we celebrating?” A familiar voice cut in. Soft hands touched my shoulders. “Hello, handsome.”
“Nat?” I turned. Her curls tickled my cheek.
“Easy, love. He’s a dad now!” A friend handed her champagne.
I remember nothing else.
I woke in an unfamiliar room, head pounding. Nat smirked down at me.
“You’re at mine. *Not* your marital home.”
“Why am I naked?”
“People sleep like that.” She laughed. “Relax, you stayed faithful. I just… missed you.”
She leaned in. I dodged.
“Breakfast?”
I dressed in silence.
“I’ll wait,” she said as I left.
Three days later, I picked up Katie with flowers, Mum, and the in-laws.
“Here’s Daddy.” The midwife handed me a bundle. I expected a chubby, rosy-cheeked baby. Instead—red, wrinkled. I felt nothing but disgust.
At home, the bundle *screamed*. The women fussed. I was useless.
Night after night, no sleep. Katie turned ghostly. Work was torture.
Autumn came. Leaves crunched underfoot. I didn’t want to go home.
A car honked. Nat.
“Get in. Family life killing you?”
“No sleep.”
“Come to mine. I’ll *behave*.”
Next morning, I was human again. “Thanks, Katie,” I mumbled through toast.
“Who?”
“Sorry. Running late.” I kissed her cheek.
“Come back anytime.”
Days later, I did.
“I knew you would.” She pulled me in.
That night, the silence woke me. No screaming. Just Nat’s steady breathing.
“Can I stay?” I asked in the morning.
“Stay forever.”
Walking to work, I rehearsed telling Katie I wasn’t coming back.
*We were fine before the baby. She wanted this.* I sent a voice message—cold, final.
—
Months later, stuck in traffic, I watched a man toss a giggling toddler while a woman—so like Katie—smiled.
My son would be walking now. Did someone play with him like that?
“Nat, why don’t you want kids?”
Long silence.
“I *can’t*.” Her knuckles whitened on the wheel. “A botched abortion at sixteen. I say I don’t want them because men like that. *You* said it too, then I saw Katie—huge belly—and I *hated* her. Hated *you*.”
She slammed the wheel. “You’ll leave me for her. Go. *Now*.”
I got out.
—
I ran. Bought a stuffed bear. Rushed upstairs, rang the bell—*too loud, might wake him*.
The door opened. Katie—glowing, hair piled up—was holding *our son*.
“Can I come in?”
She walked away. No man’s coat on the rack. No second pair of shoes.
Andrew saw the bear and reached.
“Yours.” I sat on the floor, watching Katie stack blocks. He toppled them, laughing.
I tossed him—just once. His squeals were pure joy. Two tiny teeth glinted.
“Careful!” Katie gasped.
“My dad did this with me.” I kissed his head. “Marry me? I’ll never leave you.”
She looked at us, eyes wet.
And for the first time, I knew—this was home.
