Carlos lounged on the couch, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watched the others bustling around the kitchen. The way they moved, argued over who’d do the dishes, and laughed over some dumb joke made his heart swell. The domestic chaos—the shared meals, the sleepy mornings, the endless rounds of baby prep—made him feel like they were building something real, something permanent. Like maybe, just maybe, this could be forever.

But deep down, a tiny voice whispered: they don’t love you. They’re just here for the baby. It’s a kind kindness, nothing more. A cruel dream spun from hope and exhaustion.