The world hadn't changed.
Not visibly, anyway.
The hum of traffic beyond their windows was still there. The muted clatter of London's restless rhythm played in the background, as if it had no idea their world had cracked open and begun to rearrange itself from the inside out.
Aria lay curled into Leon's side on the couch, her bare feet tucked beneath a blanket, his arm looped around her shoulders. They hadn't moved much since the test. Since the confirmation. Since her voice had broken with quiet certainty in the bathroom and he'd held her like he was afraid she'd shatter.
Hours had passed. Neither of them had touched their phones. The TV was on, but muted. Forgotten.
She was the first to speak.
"Do you think it's real?" Her voice was a murmur, barely louder than the wind outside.
Leon looked down at her, his thumb tracing a soft line along her upper arm. "It's real, Aria."
She tilted her face up toward him. "But how do you know we're ready?"
His silence stretched. Not because he didn't have an answer—he just refused to give her a careless one.
"I don't," he said finally. "I only know I want this with you. Not because it's easy. Not because it's perfect. But because it's ours."
Her throat tightened. Her fingers gripped the edge of his shirt. "I don't know what kind of mother I'll be."
He shifted, nudging her to sit up with him. "Do you think I know what kind of father I'll be?"
A ghost of a laugh escaped her.
"I've never done soft," she admitted, looking at her hands. "Not like this. I've always fought my way through things. Clawed and survived."
"And you will again," Leon said, lifting her chin so their eyes met. "But not alone. We'll learn together. Grow into it. Make mistakes. But this child…" He drew in a breath. "This child will never know what it means to feel unwanted. Or unloved."
She blinked hard.
The sharp lines she kept wrapped around her had softened lately, but now they cracked a little more. And in the space between her ribs, something expanded.
Leon pressed his forehead to hers. "You know what I keep thinking about?"
"What?"
"Whether they'll have your eyes." His voice was low, reverent. "Or that look you get when you're trying not to cry and failing anyway."
She smiled, tearful and stunned. "Maybe they'll be calm like you."
He snorted. "That's optimistic."
"You're the calm one," she insisted, nudging him with her elbow.
"I'm only calm around you." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "The rest of the world still drives me insane."
They sat there, wrapped up in each other, surrounded by the quiet hum of a world that didn't know—couldn't know—what had just shifted beneath their feet.
Eventually, Leon stood. "Come to bed."
"Are we going to sleep?" she asked, skeptical.
He held out his hand. "We're going to lay down. And breathe. And let it be okay not to have all the answers tonight."
She took his hand.
And for the first time since the test, she felt something close to peace.
Not because the fear was gone.
But because she wasn't facing it alone.