When Tom came to see me the following morning, we didn’t say much beyond the usual pleasantries. He asked how I was feeling and if I had taken my medicine, doting on my every need. He brought groceries and made sure I had everything I needed and then some.
This routine continued for a few weeks. My baby bump was now visible, and Tom acted like the father, taking me to all my clinic appointments. He told everyone—the nurses, the doctors—that he was the father. Despite our initial conversation and the uncertainty surrounding the paternity, it seemed he had fully embraced the role.
One morning, as he was putting away the groceries, I decided to try and broach the subject again.
“Tom,” I began hesitantly, “we need to talk about... everything.”
He looked up from the fridge, concern in his e
