what is the odds of having diluc’s wife as your patient- diluc r.
light angst
cw: diluc has a wife, u are his ex😭🫵🏻
The sterile white walls of the clinic felt like they were closing in, the rhythmic thrum-thrum of the fetal monitor the only thing tethering you to reality. You gripped your pen until your knuckles turned ivory, your breath hitching in the back of your throat as you glanced at the patient chart in your hand.
Mrs. Ragnvindr.
The name felt like a jagged piece of glass in your mouth. You forced a neutral, practiced mask onto your features, smoothing the front of your lab coat before pushing open the door.
Diluc sat in the corner chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He looked exactly as he did the day he shattered your world—sharp, poised, and devastatingly handsome in a way that made your chest ache with a dull, persistent throb. The memory surfaced unbidden, cruel and vivid: the coldness in his eyes when he’d said those words, “I don’t want to have a child.” You had spent months whispering hints of a future, painting a picture of a home filled with laughter and small, stumbling footsteps, only for him to rip the canvas to shreds in a single sentence.
"Doctor?" The soft voice of his wife jolted you back. She was beautiful, her expression radiant and filled with a fragile, hopeful warmth that you recognized all too well.
"My apologies," you murmured, your voice steady despite the storm raging beneath your ribs. You moved to the bedside, your hands slightly trembling as you adjusted the ultrasound probe. "Let’s see how our little one is doing today."
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence, punctuated only by the whoosh of the doppler. You worked with mechanical precision, your eyes fixed on the screen, refusing to meet Diluc’s gaze even as you felt the heavy weight of his eyes on your profile. You focused on the tiny, fluttering heartbeat—a miracle that existed here, but was denied to you.
"It’s a girl," you whispered, the words catching on a sudden, sharp intake of air.
You shifted your gaze then, and the sight nearly brought you to your knees. Diluc had stood up, his hand resting protectively on his wife’s shoulder. His jaw, usually set in that familiar, stoic line, was trembling. Tears—bright and unchecked—welled in his eyes, his gaze fixed on the monitor with a raw, unadulterated adoration that you had spent years desperate to see directed at you.
His wife let out a joyful, tearful laugh, reaching up to cover her mouth. "Oh, Diluc. A daughter."
Diluc didn’t speak, but he leaned down, pressing his forehead against his wife’s, his fingers tracing the curve of her belly with a tenderness that felt like a knife twisting in your gut. He was glowing, his entire posture softened by a vulnerability you had been told didn't exist in him.
You watched them—the picture of the life you had once built in your dreams—and felt a hollow, numbing realization settle into your bones. He hadn't been incapable of fatherhood; he had just been waiting for the right person to make it worth the sacrifice.
"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Ragnvindr," you said, your voice remarkably calm, though your heart felt like it was crumbling into ash.
You handed over the printout, your fingers brushing his briefly—a contact that sent a jolt of ice through your veins. You bowed low, using the movement to hide the sheen of tears in your own eyes. As they turned to leave, you caught his gaze one last time. You offered a short, curt nod, a silent acknowledgment of the wreckage he left behind and the life he had so easily chosen to build without you.
He lingered for a second, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something—regret? Recognition?—passing through his eyes before he turned away, hand guiding his wife out the door. The heavy click of the door closing behind them sounded like a final gavel strike, leaving you alone in the sterile silence of the examination room. You remained bowed, your head tilted toward the linoleum floor, waiting for the trembling in your hands to subside.
The weight of the realization crushed the last remnants of the hope you had kept tucked away in the back of your mind. For years, you had blamed his refusal on his own guarded nature, on his commitment to his career, and on his cold exterior. You had told yourself he simply wasn't the "family type." But watching him now—the way he cradled his wife’s hand, the way his eyes softened with a devotion he had never shown you—the truth was laid bare in the most agonizing way possible.
He hadn't been afraid of the commitment. He hadn't been closed off to the idea of a life shared. You let out a jagged, shaky breath, your chest hitching as the reality cemented itself into your heart: He is ready to build a future and a family, but not with you.
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note: i plan to write this for scara but i change the whole story bcos i dont wanna give u guys another scara ansgt😭😭😭