The test lay quietly on the windowsill.
Two pink lines. Fragile proof of something unexpected, something alive.
"I'm pregnant," Aaliyah said, her voice breaking through the silence.
Lucien looked at her first. Then Silas. Neither said a word for a long, aching moment.
"I… I don't know who the father is," she whispered, the shame clawing at her chest. "It could be either of you."
Lucien moved first. He stepped forward and cupped her face, gently lifting it so her eyes met his.
"We're not asking whose it is," he said, his voice low. "Because it's ours now. All of us."
Silas didn't speak right away. He stepped toward her slowly, then wrapped his arms around both of them. "We've come too far to fall apart now."
Aaliyah felt the air leave her lungs in a sob. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath, waiting for rejection. But all they gave her was love. Again. Still.
—
The days after the revelation became tender in a way she never imagined.
Lucien would rest his head against her belly and talk to the baby about stars, war, and how love isn't always kind but can still be real. Silas would run his fingers down her back and hum the old lullabies she had told him once—soft, sacred things she never thought he remembered.
They didn't talk about the father. Not anymore. The baby had become theirs, not a burden, not a question.
They had no idea how to live like a family. So they invented their own rules.
—
Her father arrived days later.
Not with fury. But with grief.
He stood at the edge of the clearing, his hands shaking as he looked at her — his daughter, veiled and glowing with a life he didn't understand.
"I forgave you the night you left," he said. "But forgiveness doesn't mean understanding. Or agreement."
Aaliyah stepped forward, tears welling up. "I never asked you to agree, Papa. Just... love me enough to let me live this."
He nodded, once. Eyes full of sorrow and pride he couldn't voice. "I will always love you, even when I don't understand you."
That was enough.
—
The first night of Ramadan was nothing like she imagined.
Lucien burned the rice. Silas opened the wrong date jar. And Aaliyah spilled juice all over the floor.
They laughed. A real laugh. One that didn't feel stolen.
They prayed together that night — not learning, not struggling — just being. As they had been for weeks now.
Lucien's sujood was steady. Silas's du'a quiet but sure. Aaliyah's heart full.
And when the night closed in around them, they laid beside each other in silence, her belly warm between them, the world distant.
For the first time, Aaliyah didn't feel like she was fighting. She felt... safe.
Not because they were free from struggle, or fear, or the ghosts of the past.
But because love — imperfect, bruised, but fierce — was enough.
-
𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔼ℕ𝔻