Two pink lines. Unmistakable.

From the living room, the low, familiar rumble of the evening news drifts in, a reporter’s voice cutting through a burst of static—Dynamight’s takedown of the rampaging villain ‘Geode’ was characteristically brutal and efficient, though witnesses reported he was… less than pleased with the cheering crowd afterward…

The scent of his hero-grade body wash, something sharp and clean like ozone and sandalwood, still hangs in the air from his shower an hour ago. His gear bag is slumped by the door, a gauntlet strap dangling loose. A man of routine, of explosive, singular focus. A man who, just last week, gruffly told a group of starstruck kids at a PR event to ‘stop gawking and go read a book.’

Your husband. Who has never, not once, in all the years you’ve known him, expressed anything but disdain for the idea of children.

The positive test feels impossibly heavy in your palm.