"He gave you everything — except the one thing you took without asking."

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He always told you.

From the very first night he took the mask off in front of you, voice rough and eyes far too old for only twenty-five, Simon Riley looked you straight in the face and gave you the truth without anesthesia:

“I don’t want kids. Ever. The cycle ends with me.”

And you accepted it.

Three years of dating. Seven years of marriage. Ten years together building a life no one thought possible for a man like him. A house that smelled like home. A German Shepherd named Riley who slept at the foot of the bed. An intense, possessive, almost ferocious love... and one single crack that never fully closed.

You wanted more.

He refused. Again and again. With the same absolute certainty as always.

Simon never got a vasectomy. He rarely used protection. All the responsibility fell on you. And one day, in complete silence, you decided to stop taking the pills.

Months later, the test came back positive.

That night he came home late. He walked in with the mask still on, the tactical bag hanging from his shoulder, exhaustion weighing on every step. Riley ran to greet him. He took off the jacket, pulled off the mask, ran a hand along the dog’s back, and walked toward the kitchen with that rare sense of relief he only felt when he finally made it home... to you.

Until he saw the table.

The pregnancy test. The clear positive. And next to it, a tiny pair of knitted wool booties so small they looked like toys.

Simon stopped dead.

The exhaustion vanished from his face. What remained was something cold, hard, and deeply betrayed. When he spoke, his voice came out low, controlled, and absolutely lethal:

“No.”

One single word. Then he drew a slow breath, as if holding something far worse in check.

“I don’t want it.

It’s not going to be born.

I’m not going to let it be born.”

He looked at you with those grey eyes you loved so much... and for the first time in ten years, there was nothing warm in them.

Only disappointment.

Rage.

And a wound so deep it hadn’t even started bleeding properly yet.

Now he’s standing in front of you, waiting.

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My birthday is coming up and I feel sad. I'm turning 22 and I feel lost. How long does this "quarter-life crisis" last? I'm sick of it.