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oba femi x reader (pregnancy fic)

physical touch

Sunday mornings had always followed the same routine. Not because either of you had planned it. Not because you were particularly organised. It had simply happened. Somewhere between moving in together, late-night takeaways after Monday Night Raw, and countless lazy weekends where neither of you wanted to leave the apartment, Sunday had quietly become sacred. No alarms. No schedules. No rushing. Just the two of you. The Florida sunshine spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your apartment, painting warm strips of gold across the hardwood floor. Somewhere beyond the balcony, traffic hummed lazily through the city, softened by the occasional chirp of birds hidden amongst the palm trees. The apartment itself smelled like fresh coffee, vanilla candles, and the pancakes you'd attempted about an hour earlier. Attempted being the key word. You sat curled into the corner of the enormous cream sofa with one leg tucked beneath you, a blanket thrown lazily over your lap despite the warmth outside. Your glasses rested on the bridge of your nose as you flipped another page of the architectural journal you'd been meaning to finish for almost three weeks. You'd managed exactly half a page.

Because the giant currently sprawled across the rest of the sofa had decided your lap was significantly more important than continuing your reading. Oba Femi let out a quiet, content sigh. His head rested comfortably across your thighs, his broad shoulders taking up far more room than seemed physically possible. One impossibly long leg stretched towards the coffee table while the other hung off the side of the sofa entirely. For someone nicknamed The Ruler he looked remarkably like an oversized house cat. You smiled to yourself. Freshly washed braids fanned across the cushion beneath him, still slightly damp from the shower he'd taken earlier that morning. A small bottle of scalp oil sat open beside you. You tipped a little onto your fingertips before gently working it along one of the neat parts between his braids. The response was immediate. A low, satisfied hum vibrated through his chest. "I was wondering how long it'd take." "What?" "The happy little noise." His eyes remained firmly closed. "I don't make a noise." "You absolutely do." "I don't." "You sound like a very large, very sleepy bear." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I sound dignified." "You wrestle grown men for a living." "I do." "You also just purred." "I did no such thing." You laughed quietly, your fingers continuing their slow, practiced movements against his scalp. "You absolutely did."

Silence settled comfortably between you. The only sounds were the occasional turn of a page, the distant city outside and Oba humming every few minutes without realising he was doing it. You'd learnt months ago that scratching gently between his braids after wash day was one of his favourite things in the entire world. Not that he'd ever admitted it. The first time you'd done it, he'd insisted it was simply "good scalp maintenance." The second time, he'd accidentally fallen asleep. Now the bottle of oil permanently lived in the drawer beside the sofa. Neither of you questioned it anymore.

Your fingertips drifted higher, gently massaging another section of his scalp. Oba's shoulders visibly relaxed. "You alright down there?" you asked softly. "Mhm." "You've gone very quiet." "I am experiencing peace." "Oh?" "Mhm. You should try it." "I was trying." "You were reading." "I was." "You've stopped." "Because someone decided to become a decorative cushion." His lips twitched. "I am not decorative." "You take up approximately eighty percent of this sofa." "I leave you twenty." "How generous." "You've never complained before." "I complain every Sunday." "You do and yet..." He shifted slightly. Somehow. Against every law of physics. He managed to move even closer. His shoulder pressed more firmly against your hip. His cheek settled deeper into your lap. You looked down in complete disbelief. "Oba." "Hm?" "How?" "What?" "You've just moved closer." "I did." "There wasn't any room." "There is now." "There literally wasn't." "There is." You stared at him. "You are six-foot-five." "Mhm." "You are built like a brick wall." "I've heard that." "You physically cannot get any closer to me."

He considered that for exactly two seconds. Then, almost absentmindedly, one large hand reached up to loosely wrap around the back of your calf beneath the blanket. Not gripping. Just resting there. Like he needed one more point of contact. You burst into laughter. "What?" "You've done it again." "I've done nothing." "You couldn't get closer so you invented another way." His eyes finally opened. Warm brown met yours. "I like touching you." The words were so matter-of-fact that your laughter softened into something infinitely fonder. "I know you do." "It makes me happy." "I know." "You smell nice." You raised an eyebrow. "Is that your incredibly smooth attempt at flirting?" "No." He looked entirely serious. "You smell like vanilla." You glanced down at your oversized cream cardigan. "My fabric softener." "I like it." "You also picked the fabric softener." "I did." "So really..." You smiled. "You're complimenting yourself." He frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose I am." "You absolute menace." Another quiet laugh escaped you. The sound filled the apartment, light and effortless. Oba watched you instead of closing his eyes again. He loved your laugh. It was never loud enough to startle anyone. Never forced. Just warm. Like sunshine finding its way through curtains.

Without really thinking, he reached up. His fingertips brushed lightly against your wrist where it rested on the arm of the sofa. "You stopped." You blinked. "Stopped what?" "The scratching." "Oh." You looked down at the bottle of oil still balanced beside you. "I thought you were asleep." "I was almost asleep." "So" You resumed gently massaging his scalp. "Your Royal Highness would like the spa treatment to continue?" "I would." "You know this is becoming an expectation." "I know." "I'm going to start charging." He opened one eye. "How much?" You pretended to think. "One kiss." "Reasonable." He pushed himself up just enough to reach you. Not fully sitting up. Just enough. His hand found the back of your neck with practiced gentleness as he leaned forward and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. Then the corner of your mouth. Before settling back into your lap as though nothing had happened. "There." He closed his eyes again. "Paid." You couldn't help smiling. "You overpaid." "I tipped." "You tipped?" "Mhm. Good service deserves it."

Your heart felt impossibly full. You looked down at the enormous man who, less than twenty-four hours earlier, had stood in the middle of a WWE ring staring down another powerhouse with an expression that had sent forty thousand people into stunned silence. Now he was practically asleep in your lap because you were scratching his head. You leaned back into the sofa, your fingers once again finding their familiar rhythm through his braids.

Every Sunday seemed to end exactly the same way. With Oba somehow finding a way to get just a little bit closer and you pretending not to notice until he was practically wrapped around you like gravity itself.

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The first thing people noticed about your apartment was that it never felt like a wrestler lived there. There were no championship belts displayed on the walls. No framed magazine covers. No larger-than-life photographs. No shrine to Oba's career. Instead there were overflowing bookshelves filled with architecture books and travel guides, houseplants that somehow continued to thrive despite the Florida heat, a record player tucked neatly beside the television, candles on almost every surface, a handmade ceramic fruit bowl that sat proudly in the middle of the dining table despite being slightly lopsided. When Trick had asked where you'd bought it, you'd proudly announced you'd made it yourself. When he'd asked why it looked "wonky," you'd thrown a tea towel at his head. Now it was affectionately known amongst the group as The Wonky Bowl. Everyone pretended not to love it. Everyone secretly did.

"You left the door unlocked." Lash's voice echoed through the apartment before the front door had even fully opened. "You told us to let ourselves in!" "We did!" you called back from the kitchen. Within seconds the apartment filled with noise. Lash was first through the door carrying two bags from a bakery. Kelani followed behind her balancing flowers she'd insisted on bringing "because every dinner table deserved flowers." Trick wandered in wearing a hoodie despite the Florida heat. "You people keep your apartment freezing." Oba looked up from where he was setting drinks on the island. "It is seventy-two degrees." "I know." "I'm freezing." "You live in Florida." "I've adapted."

"Smells good!" Kelani beamed as she wandered into the kitchen. You looked up from the chopping board. "You're just saying that because you haven't seen the state of my counters." She looked around. Every surface was covered. Vegetables, bowls, sauces, recipe books, a loaf of fresh bread cooling on a wire rack. "You've cooked all this?" "Mhm." Lash leaned against the island. "Girl You know takeaways exist?" "I like cooking." "You've been doing this since lunchtime." "I know." "You crazy." You laughed. "I've heard worse."

The front door opened again. "Please tell me you've made enough." Carmelo walked straight towards the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Damian followed behind him carrying several bottles of sparkling water. Lola was the last to arrive. The moment she spotted you "There she is!" She hurried over, wrapping you in a hug before you'd even put the knife down. "I missed you." "I saw you on Thursday." "I know. I still missed you." You smiled into the embrace.

Dinner somehow became even louder once everyone sat down. Conversations overlapped. Someone laughed every thirty seconds. Trick and Melo immediately started arguing over basketball. Kelani tried convincing Lash to come to a pottery class. Lola was halfway through telling you about a dance rehearsal disaster. Meanwhile Oba barely spoke. Not because he wasn't listening. He simply looked content watching everyone else. His chair sat beside yours at the end of the table. One broad thigh rested comfortably against yours beneath the table. You didn't think anything of it. You never did.

"So..." Melo looked between the two of you. "I've got a question." You immediately looked suspicious. "That face means trouble." "It doesn't." "It absolutely does." He pointed dramatically at Oba. "Has he touched you since we got here?" You frowned. "What?" Lash burst into laughter. "Oh my God, he's noticed too." "Noticed what?" Kelani looked genuinely confused. "I don't know what we're noticing." Trick grinned. "Watch." Everyone fell quiet. You blinked around the table. "...Why are you all looking at us?" "We're conducting research," Melo announced. "No you're not," Damian sighed. "Yes we are."

You looked at Oba. He simply shrugged. "I don't know either." "See?" You laughed. "We're both confused." Melo nodded. "Excellent." He pointed towards you. "Can you stand up?" "...Why?" "For science." "There is absolutely no scientific method happening here." "Please." You looked at Oba. He looked just as confused as you. "Go on," he murmured. Curiosity finally won. You stood, carrying your empty plate towards the kitchen.

The conversation immediately resumed behind you. You rinsed the plate in the sink, humming quietly to yourself while deciding whether everyone wanted dessert yet. Barely ten seconds passed before you heard footsteps behind you, strong, familiar footsteps. You smiled before you'd even turned around. Oba stopped beside you. "I was wondering where you'd gone." You laughed. "I've been gone for approximately eleven seconds." "Mhm." "I walked eight feet." "I know." "So..." You turned the tap off. "...Why are you here?" He frowned slightly, as though the answer should have been obvious. "You’re here."

Before you could respond, he reached around you to open the dishwasher, his free hand settling absentmindedly against the small of your back. Not possessive. Not even particularly deliberate. It simply landed there. His thumb rubbed one slow circle through your jumper while he loaded the plate. You leaned comfortably into his side without even thinking about it. "So helpful." "I try." "You absolutely just followed me." "I needed to put my plate away." You looked down. His plate was still sitting on the dining table. You slowly raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He looked back towards the table. "Ah." You waited. "So..." He smiled sheepishly. "I may have forgotten it." Your laugh echoed through the kitchen. "I knew it."

From the dining room Melo slapped the stopwatch dramatically onto the table. "Eleven point four seconds!" Lash cackled. "I told you!" Kelani looked completely delighted. "Wait. He really followed her?" Trick didn't even look surprised. "He always does." The two of you wandered back into the dining room carrying absolutely no additional plates. Everyone immediately stared. You frowned. "Why are you all smiling like that?" Melo held up his phone. "I timed him." You looked between him and Oba. "Timed what?" "The separation." "The what?" "The amount of time before Big Man here wandered after you." Lola burst into laughter before you could. "You timed them?" "I did." "You need hobbies." "This is my hobby."

You looked at Oba. "Did you follow me?" "I don't think so." "You literally did," Trick replied. "I was putting my plate away." "You forgot your plate." Oba paused. "I did." Melo pointed triumphantly. "Exactly." The room dissolved into laughter. Even Damian chuckled quietly into his drink.

You shook your head fondly before reaching for the serving bowl in the middle of the table. "Ignore them." "I'm trying." As you spooned more roasted vegetables onto your plate, Oba reached for the basket of bread. Without asking, without looking he tore off a piece of the warm loaf and placed it gently onto the edge of your plate before taking some for himself. It was such an automatic gesture that neither of you acknowledged it. The conversation continued. You thanked Kelani for bringing flowers. Lash complained dramatically about cardio. Melo continued winding Trick up. Then Damian quietly cleared his throat. "You two." You both looked over. "When did that become a thing?" "What thing?" you asked. He nodded towards your plate. "The bread." You blinked. "Oh." Oba looked down. He genuinely hadn't realised he'd done it. "I..." He frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know." You smiled. "He always does." "When?" "Every meal." You looked at the bread sitting neatly beside your vegetables. "If there's bread he gives me the first piece." Silence settled around the table. Oba looked faintly embarrassed. "I do?" "You've done it for over a year." "I have?" "Mhm." "I thought everyone did that." Lash laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork. "No, baby." She grinned at him. "That's just you." Oba looked around the table. Every single person was smiling. Even Trick. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just" He glanced at you. "know she likes the end piece." Your heart melted because he was right, you did. You'd never told him. Not once. But somewhere along the way he'd noticed. And without making a fuss, without announcing it or expecting thanks, he'd quietly made sure the first slice always found its way onto your plate. You reached beneath the table until your fingers found his hand. You gave it one gentle squeeze. He looked at you. "What?" "Nothing." You smiled so warmly it made his chest ache. "I just love you." The words came as naturally as breathing. Oba's entire expression softened. His large hand turned beneath yours until your fingers slotted together properly. He didn't say I love you back. He never needed to. Instead, his thumb stroked slowly across your knuckles, three gentle passes.

Lola watched from across the table before leaning towards Kelani with a grin. "I swear" She whispered just loudly enough for everyone to hear. "if those two got any closer, we'd have to start setting one extra place instead of two." Even Oba laughed at that. But despite the teasing his hand never left yours for the rest of dinner.

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Monday mornings always arrived far too quickly. One minute you were wrapped in Sunday morning sunlight with Oba asleep across your lap. The next your apartment buzzed with organised chaos. The coffee machine hissed on the kitchen counter, sports highlights played quietly on the television. Your laptop sat open on the dining table, blueprints covering almost every inch of the surface as you prepared for your first client meeting of the week. Meanwhile Oba was supposed to be leaving, supposed to. His flight to Monday Night RAW boarded in less than two hours. His suitcase stood neatly packed beside the front door. His boots had already been polished. His gym bag was zipped. Everything was ready. Except he was still here. You sipped your coffee without looking up from the floor plan in front of you. "I thought you were leaving ten minutes ago." "I am." "Mhm." "I am." "You've said that three times." "I know." You clicked another measurement into your design software. "You'll miss your flight." "I won't." "You absolutely will if you keep standing in my kitchen." "I'm not standing." You finally looked up. He was, in fact, leaning against the kitchen island with his arms folded. "You are literally standing." He glanced down. "...You're right." "I usually am." "I'll allow it this once." You laughed under your breath. "So generous."

Eventually he pushed himself away from the counter. "There. I'm going." "Safe travels." "I'll call when I land." "I know." He walked towards the front door. You returned your attention to your laptop. The front door opened. Then closed. A few seconds passed. Footsteps. You didn't even bother looking up this time. "What did you forget?" "My keys." "They're in your left pocket." Silence. You heard him pat both sides of his joggers. "They are." You heard the door open again. "Love you!" "I love you too!" The door closed. You smiled to yourself. Three... Two... One... The door opened again.

This time you did look up. Oba stood there looking entirely too innocent. "What now?" "My water bottle." You pointed towards the enormous black bottle in his hand. "The one you're currently holding?" He looked down. "Ah." You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself smiling. "Anything else while you're here?" "No." "You sure?" "Mhm." "You've got your phone?" He patted his pocket. "Yes." "Wallet?" "Yes." "Gym bag?" He looked towards the suitcase. "Yes." You narrowed your eyes. He narrowed his back. Neither of you said anything.

Then, "You just wanted another goodbye kiss." "I did not." "You absolutely did." "I may have." "There it is." You stood, walking the short distance across the apartment until you stopped in front of him. His expression immediately softened. Without hesitation, his hands settled on your waist. Not squeezing. Not pulling. Simply resting there like they'd found their favourite place in the world. "You know" You looked up at him. "most people just ask." "I know." "You don't need elaborate excuses." "They weren't elaborate." "They were terrible." "They worked." "They absolutely did not." "They got me another kiss." You laughed. "I suppose they did."

You reached up first this time. One hand cupped his jaw. "You big baby." "I've been called worse." "I know." "You still like me." "I love you." His smile was slow. Unhurried. The kind that only ever belonged to you. "I love you too." He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Then your temple. Then your cheek. You raised an eyebrow. "Are you collecting the whole set?" "I might be." "You've missed one." "I know." He finally kissed your lips. Slowly. Unrushed. Like he had nowhere else in the world to be. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for just a second. Then sighed. "I should go." "You probably should." Neither of you moved.

A phone buzzed somewhere near the hallway. Both of you looked over. Oba groaned. "That's Trick." You smiled knowingly. "Answer him." He sighed dramatically before fishing his phone from his pocket. The moment he answered, Trick's voice echoed loudly enough for you to hear. "Tell me you actually left this time." "I have." "You lying?" "...Maybe." "Oba." "I'm leaving now." "Big man, your flight is in an hour." "I know." "Then why can I hear Y/N making coffee?" You couldn't help laughing. "Morning, Trick!" "Morning! Tell him to get out!" "I'm trying!" Oba rolled his eyes. "I'm a grown man." "You're acting like a golden retriever that doesn't want their owner leaving for work." "I don't know what that means." "It means MOVE."

You gently nudged Oba's shoulder. "Go on." He looked at you for another second before nodding. This time he picked up his suitcase. Actually opened the front door, actually stepped into the hallway. You watched him disappear, the door clicked shut. You smiled, shaking your head as you returned to your laptop. Thirty seconds later, a soft knock. Not the handle opening just three quiet taps. You laughed before you even reached the door. When you opened it, Oba stood exactly where you'd expected. One hand shoved sheepishly into the pocket of his hoodie. Suitcase beside him. "What happened now?" He looked almost embarrassed. "I forgot something." You folded your arms. "No, you didn't." He smiled. "I didn't." "I knew it." He looked down for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "I just..." His voice had softened into something quieter. "...didn't want my last memory before travelling to be the front door closing." Your entire expression melted. "Oh." "I wanted" He rubbed the back of his neck. "one more hug." Not a kiss. Not another excuse. Just one more hug. You stepped forward without saying a word. Your arms wrapped around his waist. His immediately circled your shoulders, pulling you into the broad warmth of his chest. He held you tightly, not desperately, not anxiously. Just long enough to memorise the feeling. You smiled against his hoodie. "Feel better?" "Mhm." "You know I'll still be here tonight." "I know." "You know I'll answer when you call." "I know." "You know I love you." "I know." You tipped your head back to look at him. "So what was this for?" He smiled, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. "I just like leaving full." You blinked. "Full?" "Of you."

The words were so simple. So undeniably Oba. Not poetic. Not rehearsed. Just honest. You reached up, smoothing the collar of his hoodie where it had folded. "Go catch your flight, love." "I will." "And no more excuses." He nodded solemnly. "No more excuses." He made it all the way to the elevator before turning around one last time. You were still standing in the doorway. Waiting. You lifted your hand in a little wave. He smiled. The kind of smile that softened every intimidating edge he carried. Then he finally stepped into the elevator. As the doors closed, Trick's voice came crackling through his phone again. "You actually in the lift?" "I am." "Good." A pause. "How many goodbyes was that?" Oba thought about it. “Six." "Brother..." A grin spread across his face as the elevator descended. "Worth every one."

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The first thing Lola noticed was that you hadn't touched your coffee. Which, in itself, wasn't unusual. You had a terrible habit of making drinks, wandering off halfway through, then rediscovering them an hour later stone cold. What was unusual was how quiet you'd been all morning. Not unhappy. Not distracted. Jus thoughtful.

It had been one of those rare days where schedules somehow aligned. RAW was in California. NXT had taped earlier in the week. Damian had travelled with WWE for appearances. Oba had flown out. Leaving just the girls. Lash had immediately declared that meant brunch was mandatory. "No boys," she'd announced in the group chat. "No wrestling. No talking about work unless someone's getting fired." Kelani had replied with three heart emojis. Lola had simply sent, Finally.

Now the four of you wandered through the Saturday farmers' market, iced coffees in hand as the late-morning Florida sun warmed the pavement beneath your trainers. Fresh flowers spilled from wooden crates. A local guitarist played softly beneath a striped awning. The smell of fresh bread drifted between little independent stalls selling homemade candles, pottery and baked goods. Kelani stopped every ten feet. "Oh my God. Look at those earrings." Lash laughed. "You've said that about six different stalls." "They're all cute!" "You can't buy everything." "Watch me." Lola looped her arm through yours. "You alright?" You smiled. "Mhm." "You've gone very quiet." "I'm just people watching." "You've been people watching for forty minutes." "I like people." "You also normally narrate what everyone's doing." You looked at the young family walking ahead of you. A little girl, no older than four, sat happily on her dad's shoulders, giggling every time he pretended he couldn't remember which way to go. Her mom walked beside them holding the tiniest hand you'd ever seen. The little girl pointed excitedly towards an ice cream stand. Both parents laughed. Something warm settled quietly in your chest.

"There!" Kelani practically skipped towards another stall. "Oh It's a bookshop!" It wasn't really a bookshop. More of a tiny independent bookstore tucked beneath a canvas awning. Half the shelves were filled with novels. The other half children's books. Bright colours. Soft toys. Tiny illustrated stories stacked neatly beside knitted teddy bears. Lash immediately picked up a board book. "I would've eaten this as a kid." Lola laughed. "I don't think that's what they're for." "I know. It still looks delicious."

You wandered a little further inside. Your fingertips drifted across rows of beautifully illustrated covers. Goodnight Moon. Guess How Much I Love You. The Very Hungry Caterpillar. The smell of fresh paper and coffee filled the tiny shop. You smiled to yourself. Then you stopped. Nestled on a low shelf sat the smallest pair of knitted baby booties. Cream wool. Little wooden buttons. They couldn't have been bigger than your palm. You crouched instinctively, gently picking one up. It weighed almost nothing. "They're adorable, aren't they?" The elderly shop owner smiled warmly from behind the till. "They're handmade." You nodded. "They're beautiful." "They're popular with first-time parents." You swallowed. "I can see why." Across the shop Lola looked up. She'd been halfway through laughing at whatever Kelani had found. Instead she noticed you, completely still. Turning one tiny bootie over carefully in your hands. Something about your expression caught her attention. Not sadness. Not longing exactly. Just a softness she hadn't seen before.

"You coming?" Lash called. You blinked. "Oh. Yeah." You carefully placed the bootie back exactly where you'd found it. Then smiled. "Coming."

The market slowly began to thin as lunchtime approached. Lash and Kelani headed off towards another stall after deciding they absolutely needed fresh lemonade before going home. "I'll meet you there," Lola called. "You two go." Kelani smiled. "Don't take forever." "No promises."

A few minutes later the two of you sat outside a little café tucked onto the corner of the street. The lunchtime rush hadn't quite begun. It was quiet. Peaceful. Exactly the sort of place the two of you always ended up. You stirred your coffee absentmindedly. Still not drinking it. Lola watched you over the rim of her cup. "So..." You looked up. "So?" "You gonna tell me?" You frowned. "Tell you what?" "What happened back there." You blinked. "What do you mean?" "The baby booties." Your spoon stopped moving. For a moment you simply looked down into your coffee. "I didn't realise you noticed." "I always notice." Silence settled between you. Comfortable. Patient. Lola had never been the type to force people to talk. She'd simply wait. Eventually you smiled quietly to yourself. "I've always wanted children." The words were so soft she almost missed them. She didn't interrupt. You looked out towards the street instead. "I don't know why I never really say it out loud." "You don't have to explain." "I know." You laughed gently. "I just..." You searched for the right words. "I've wanted it for as long as I can remember."

You watched a young mom crouch to wipe melted ice cream from her son's face across the road. The little boy wrapped sticky arms around her neck in thanks. Your smile softened. "I used to line all my teddy bears up when I was little." Lola smiled. "I can picture that." "I'd play schools, houses, tea parties. I always made myself the mom." Your eyes drifted back to your untouched coffee. "It was never because I thought that's all women were supposed to do." You shook your head. "I wanted a career. I still do. I love what I do. I love designing homes." A small laugh escaped you. "Maybe that's where it comes from." Lola tilted her head. "What?" "I've always liked making places where people feel safe." Your voice grew quieter. "I think I'd like to make one of my own." Lola's expression softened. “You'd be an amazing mom." You laughed nervously. "You have to say that." "I absolutely don't." Lola leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "You spend your entire life looking after people. You remember everybody's birthdays. You know Kelani's coffee order. You keep snacks in your bag because Trick forgets to eat. You bought Damian a new mug because he broke his favourite one. You even started keeping Oba's scalp oil in the drawer next to the sofa." You burst into laughter. "He would've forgotten where it was." "Exactly. You love taking care of people."

A warmth crept into your cheeks. "I think..." You admitted. "...I just worry." "About what?" "The timing." You sighed. "My job's busy." "Oba's career is taking off. We barely get weekends together some months." You traced the edge of your mug. "I don't want him to think I'm..." Your voice trailed away. "Rushing him?" You nodded. "Yeah." Lola frowned. "Have you ever actually asked him?" You blinked. "What?" "If he wants kids." You thought for a moment. Then realised "No." "You've never talked about it?" "Not really. We've joked about it. Like..." You smiled fondly. "When we pass babies in supermarkets he'll always wave and he somehow knows every dinosaur." Lola laughed. "That man definitely practises." "I know. But..." You shrugged. "We've never sat down and actually asked each other."

Lola reached across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "Y/N." You looked up. "You know that giant man follows you around your own apartment because he likes being within arm's reach of you." You laughed. "He does." "He looks at you like you hung the moon." Your smile widened despite yourself. "He does do that." "So" She grinned knowingly. "Do you honestly think he's going to hear the words, 'I'd like to have a family with you one day,' and run away screaming?" You covered your face with one hand, laughing. "When you put it like that..." "I'm serious." Lola's smile softened. "I've watched him around you. He already treats your apartment like it's the safest place in the world." She squeezed your hand once more. "I think if home is his favourite place he'll probably love the idea of making it bigger." Your heart swelled. Not because she was telling you what you wanted to hear. But because for the first time... The dream you'd quietly carried for years didn't feel quite so impossible. As the conversation drifted back to lighter things, you finally lifted your coffee and took your first sip. Across the table, Lola smiled to herself. She'd known you long enough to recognise that look in your eyes. It wasn't impatience. It wasn't pressure. It was hope. And somehow, she had a feeling that hope wasn't going to stay a dream for very much longer.

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California was three hours behind Florida. Normally, that made keeping in touch surprisingly easy. By the time you finished work each evening, Monday Night RAW had only just begun to stir backstage. It had become a ritual over the last year. One FaceTime before his call time. No exceptions. No matter where either of you were. You had just finished watering the plants on the balcony when your phone buzzed against the kitchen island.

Oba A smile spread across your face before you'd even answered. You swiped across the screen. "There you are." The camera wobbled for a second before settling. Oba was sitting in the corner of what looked like a hotel room. Grey hoodie. Training shorts. Fresh from the gym. His braids were tied back, a towel draped lazily around his shoulders. "There you are." You laughed. "I've been here the whole time." "I know." "I've been waiting." "You called three minutes early." "I finished training early." "You absolutely rushed your cooldown." "...Maybe." You smiled to yourself. "You are incapable of being subtle." "I've never claimed otherwise." You propped the phone against the fruit bowl on the kitchen island before continuing to tidy the apartment. The dishwasher hummed quietly in the background. The television played some documentary no one was really watching. Neither of you minded. Half your calls weren't about talking. They were simply existing together.

"What are you doing?" You opened the dishwasher. "Emptying this." "You should leave it." "And why would I do that?" "I'll do it when I get home." You laughed. "That's tomorrow night." "It can wait." "It cannot." "It absolutely can." "Oba." "What?" "I am perfectly capable of unloading a dishwasher." "I know." "Then why are you arguing with me?" "I'm not arguing." "You are." "I'm making suggestions." "They're bad suggestions."

He smiled. "You've moved the fern." You blinked. "The what?" "The fern." He pointed at the screen. "It used to be beside the bookshelf." You looked over your shoulder. "Oh." "I wanted it to get more sunlight." He nodded thoughtfully. "It looks happier." You stared at him. "...How did you notice that?" He looked confused. "I live there." "I know, but you've been gone twenty-four hours." "I know." "You noticed I'd moved one plant." "Mhm." "You are unbelievable." He watched quietly as you stacked plates into the cupboard. Every so often your eyes drifted back to the phone. His always seemed to be on you. Not intensely. Not possessively. Just, comfortably. Like watching you move around your own home was somehow his favourite programme.

Eventually you leaned against the kitchen island. "So..." "So?" "How was training?" He shrugged. "Good. Productive. You?" You smiled. "Girls' day." "I heard. Lola posted approximately forty-seven Instagram stories." You laughed. "I think it was closer to thirty." "I counted." "You absolutely did not." "I did." You told him about the farmers' market. Kelani buying flowers. Lash trying to convince everyone to get matching sunglasses. Lola accidentally dropping iced coffee down herself. Oba listened to every word. Sometimes smiling. Sometimes laughing. Occasionally asking questions. He always wanted details. Not because he was checking up on you. Because he genuinely wanted to know about your day. "And then" You smiled. "...Kelani nearly bought another plant." He sighed dramatically. "Don't encourage her." "I didn't!" "You definitely did." "I only said it was cute." "You know that's encouragement." "I have no control over that girl." "No." He smiled warmly. "I think that's why you like her."

Silence settled for a moment. Comfortable. You found yourself absentmindedly tracing circles around the rim of your mug. The conversation with Lola from earlier drifted back into your mind. You hesitated. Your fingers tapped lightly against the mug. "Can I ask you something?" His expression softened instantly. "Always." You took a slow breath. It wasn't exactly the question you'd rehearsed. But maybe it was close enough. "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" Oba frowned thoughtfully. "Ten years?" "Mhm." "You can say retired." He laughed quietly. "I hope so." "I'd like my knees to still work." You smiled. "Fair." He leaned back against the hotel headboard. Thinking. Not rushing. Finally he answered. "Home." You laughed. "That's not an answer." "It is." "No." "It's a location." "It isn't." He smiled. "It is to me." You folded your arms. "Try again." He looked into the camera. "As far away from airports as possible." You laughed. "Understandable." "I'd like a garden." Your eyebrows lifted. "A garden?" "Mhm So you can continue buying plants." "I knew this was secretly about my fern." "It was." He smiled. "I'd like somewhere quiet. No city. No hotels. No suitcase." His voice had become softer. "I'd like" He paused. "to wake up beside you every morning." Your heart fluttered. "I already do." "I know." "I'd like to keep doing that."

You smiled. "What else?" He didn't hesitate this time. "Children." The word landed gently. Like it had always belonged there. You went completely still. He continued before noticing your silence. "A house full of them." You blinked. "A house full?" He nodded. "If you'll let me." You couldn't help laughing. "How many exactly is a house full?" He looked genuinely thoughtful. "Three." "Three?" "Mhm. Maybe four." You stared at the screen. "Four?" "If we're lucky." You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your tea. "Oba Femi." "What?" "I was expecting one." "I wasn't." He smiled at your laughter. "I've always wanted children." The words were so simple. So certain. No hesitation. No awkwardness. No embarrassment. "I have since I was young." "You have?" "Mhm. My mom always says I was forever carrying my younger cousins around." You smiled. "I can picture that." "I liked looking after them." He shrugged. "I still do." His expression softened in that quiet way it only ever did when he talked about things that truly mattered. "I think I'd like to be the sort of dad my children know they can always come home to." Your throat tightened. He continued, almost absentmindedly. "The sort that sits through dance recitals, football matches, school plays, parent evenings. Whatever they love I want to be there." You felt your eyes sting. Because there wasn't a trace of ego in his voice. He wasn't imagining teaching them to wrestle or seeing them become champions. He was imagining showing up.

He finally noticed how quiet you'd become. His brow furrowed. "What?" You quickly blinked away the tears gathering in your eyes. "Nothing." "Y/N." "I'm okay."

"You might be okay, but you are about to cry." A watery laugh escaped you. You shook your head. "I just..." Your voice caught for a moment. "I didn't know." "Know what?" "That you wanted all that." His expression turned wonderfully confused. "I thought you knew." "I don't think we've ever actually talked about it." He considered that. "You're right. We haven't."

For a second, neither of you spoke. Then Oba smiled. One of those soft, private smiles that only belonged to the two of you. "Can I ask you something?" "Always." He tilted his head. "What made you ask?" Your heart skipped. You could tell him. You almost did. Instead you smiled. "I was just thinking about the future." He nodded slowly. "I like our future." You smiled back. "So do I." A producer's voice called his name somewhere off-screen. "Oba! Five minutes!" He looked reluctantly towards the door. Then back to you. "I've got to go." "I know." He didn't move. Neither of you did. "You first," you teased. "You first." "I'm not the one with call time." He laughed. "Fair." He lifted his hand towards the camera. An old habit. One you'd started months ago. You mirrored him, placing your palm against the screen. Obviously, you couldn't actually touch. But somehow it still felt close. "I miss you," he said quietly. "I miss you too." "I'll be home tomorrow." "I know." "I love you." "I love you too." You watched him smile one last time before the call ended.

The screen went black. The apartment suddenly felt a little quieter. You sat there for a long moment, your reflection staring back at you. Then almost without thinking your hand drifted down to rest lightly over your stomach. Your smile was small. Hopeful. Because for the first time since you'd met Oba the future you'd imagined in secret no longer felt like a dream you were carrying alone.

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The arena was almost empty. The show had wrapped nearly an hour earlier. Most of the roster had already disappeared towards the hotel buses or the airport. Production crew dismantled lighting rigs beneath the dimmed house lights while the occasional shout echoed through the loading dock. Backstage everything had finally become quiet. Oba sat on one of the equipment cases outside the locker room, still dressed in his ring gear beneath an unzipped black hoodie. A paper container balanced on one knee. Chicken, rice, vegetables. The meal sat almost untouched. He wasn't particularly hungry. He'd been scrolling through photographs instead. "You gonna eat that?" Oba looked up. Damian Priest wandered over carrying two bottles of water. Without waiting for permission, he sat on the equipment case beside him. "I'm getting to it." "Mhm." Damian glanced sideways. "You've been looking at the same picture for five minutes." Oba looked back down. A photograph filled the screen, you. Standing in the kitchen of your apartment. Hair tied into a messy bun, covered in flour. Holding a burnt pancake above your head with the proudest smile imaginable. He smiled despite himself. "She was very pleased with that pancake." Damian leaned closer. "...Didn't you tell me that one ended up in the bin?" "It did." "So why was she smiling?" "Because she made the shape she wanted." Damian blinked. "What shape?" "A heart." He looked at the photograph again. "It was recognisable." "Recognisable?" "Barely." Damian laughed. "So she celebrated a burnt pancake." "Mhm." "You kept the photo." "Mhm." There wasn't an ounce of embarrassment in his voice. Only affection.

Damian twisted open one of the water bottles. "You miss her." "I do." "Been gone..." He checked the date on his watch."...Twenty-nine hours?" "Thirty." Damian smirked. "You counted." "I always count." A comfortable silence settled between them. It wasn't unusual. They'd never been friends who needed constant conversation. Sometimes they simply existed in the same space. That was enough. Eventually Damian nodded towards Oba's phone. "You ever gonna ask her?" Oba frowned. "Ask her what?" "You know." Damian gestured vaguely. "The question." Oba looked genuinely confused. "What question?" "The one involving a ring." Realisation dawned slowly. "Oh." Damian snorted. "'Oh,' he says." "I've thought about it." "I'd hope so." "I just..." Oba looked down at the photo again. "I want to get it right.” Damian smiled knowingly.

"You will." "I don't know." "You've seen her apartment." Oba looked up. "Yes?" "She cried because you remembered her favourite biscuits." He smiled softly. "She does that." "You noticed she'd been looking at a lamp online." "So I bought it." "You drove across Orlando because she'd casually mentioned a bakery she liked." "They'd sold out last time." Damian laughed quietly. "My point exactly." He took a sip of water. "You pay attention. You always will. That's the important bit." Oba leaned back slightly against the concrete wall. "I don't think she'd care how I asked." "No." Damian agreed. "She'd care that it was you."

The thought settled comfortably between them. Then almost absentmindedly Damian asked, "You ever think about kids?" There wasn't even a second's hesitation. "Every day." Damian's eyebrows lifted. "That quick?" Oba looked almost surprised by the question. "I've always wanted them." He shrugged lightly. "I thought everybody knew that." "I didn't." "I've wanted to be a dad since I was young." His voice carried the quiet certainty of someone discussing a fact rather than a fantasy. "No particular reason. I just..." He searched for the words. "I always liked looking after people." Damian nodded slowly. "I remember." "My younger cousins." Oba smiled to himself. "They used to follow me everywhere." "You were the giant cousin." "I suppose. They'd climb on me, fall asleep on me. I never minded." Damian watched him carefully. "You think about it with her?" Oba's smile softened immediately. "All the time." There wasn't a hint of hesitation. No embarrassment. Only warmth.

"What do you picture?" The question hung quietly in the corridor. Oba looked towards the arena floor for a long moment. Then answered. "Our house, Sunday mornings, breakfast." He smiled. "Probably pancakes." Damian laughed. "The burnt ones?" "The burnt ones." "I think she'd still make them." "I'd still eat them." His gaze drifted somewhere far away. "I picture toys on the floor, little shoes by the front door." He smiled to himself. "I picture her reading bedtime stories. I think she'd do all the voices." Damian chuckled. "She absolutely would." Oba nodded. "I think she'd be an incredible mom." His expression became impossibly gentle. "Patient, kind. She makes people feel safe without even trying." He looked down at the photograph still glowing softly in his hand. "I've never met anyone who loves people the way she does." He smiled. "Our children would be very lucky."

For a while neither man spoke. Eventually Damian broke the silence. "You told her all this?" Oba frowned. "Not properly." "You should." "I know." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't want her to think I'm putting pressure on her." Damian laughed quietly. "You know I reckon she's probably worrying about exactly the same thing." Oba looked over. "You think?" "I do." He stood, collecting the empty water bottle. "You two spend so much time trying not to pressure each other you've probably forgotten you're on the same team."

Oba sat with that thought long after Damian disappeared towards the buses. Eventually he looked back down at the photograph on his phone. Your flour-covered smile filled the screen. His thumb brushed lightly across it. "So would you," he murmured quietly to himself. It took him a second to realise he'd said it out loud. His smile widened. Because in his mind there had never really been another version of his future. It had always looked the same, a home, your laughter filling every room, small footsteps running through the hallway. And your hand finding his, exactly as it always did, at the end of every day.

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The following week refused to slow down. By Tuesday morning, Oba was home. By Wednesday evening, he was gone again for a European tour. By Friday you'd barely noticed where the days had disappeared. Blueprints covered your dining table. Your laptop had become a permanent fixture on the kitchen island. Three separate client deadlines loomed over the next fortnight, and your architectural practice had somehow landed two major residential projects in the same week. Normally you loved being busy. This week everything felt harder.

"You sure you're alright?" Your manager's voice crackled through your headphones. You blinked back to the video call. "Hm?" "I asked if the revised elevations would be ready by Monday." "Oh." You quickly glanced at the plans in front of you. "Yeah, sorry. My mind wandered." He smiled kindly. "Long week?" "You have no idea." By the time the meeting finally ended, you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands. Everything felt heavy. Not painful. Just Like someone had quietly turned the world's gravity up a little. You checked the clock. Half past two. You hadn't eaten lunch. That probably explained it. You wandered into the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Stared. Closed it again. Nothing looked particularly appealing. Which was strange. Normally Friday lunches were your favourite excuse to make ridiculous sandwiches using whatever happened to be in the fridge. Instead You settled on plain crackers. Made it halfway through one before pulling a face. "No." You slid the plate away.

Your phone buzzed across the counter. Lola Coffee? You smiled. Always.

Twenty minutes later The little café had become your escape from work. You arrived first. Ordered your usual vanilla latte without thinking. When the cup arrived, You lifted it automatically. The smell hit you first, you frowned. Something about it seemed, wrong. Too sweet. Too strong. Almost burnt. You lowered the cup again. "You haven't drunk it." Lola slid into the chair opposite you. You looked down. "I was about to." "Mhm. You've been about to since I walked through the window." You laughed. "I don't know. It smells funny." Lola blinked. "You ordered vanilla." "I know." "You literally get the same drink every single time." "I know." She reached over. Took the cup. Smelled it. "...Smells like coffee." You sighed dramatically. "I know. I think it's me."

The waitress wandered over. "Everything alright?" You smiled apologetically. "I'm so sorry could I actually just have peppermint tea instead?" "Of course!" "No problem at all." As the waitress disappeared, Lola rested her chin on her hand. "Who are you?" You laughed. "What?" "You." She pointed towards the abandoned latte. "You rejected coffee." "I did." "You once drank a cold coffee that had been in your car for six hours." "In my defence" "There is no defence."

The two of you spent the next hour chatting about everything except work. Lola's upcoming match. Damian accidentally leaving his boots in Orlando. Kelani's latest obsession with buying houseplants. Trick somehow setting off the fire alarm trying to cook chicken. You laughed until your stomach hurt. For the first time all week you relaxed. "You look tired." The observation was quiet. Gentle. You looked across the table. "I am." "You've got those little shadows under your eyes." "I've been working." "You've always worked." You shrugged. "I don't know. I just feel..." You searched for the word. "...slower." Lola frowned. "You ill?" "I don't think so." "No temperature?" "No." "No cold?" You shook your head. "Just tired." You walked back towards your cars together. Halfway across the parking lot a wave of dizziness washed over you. Your steps faltered. Only for a second. But it was enough. "Whoa." Lola's hand immediately caught your elbow. "You okay?" You blinked. The world steadied almost as quickly as it had tilted. "Yeah. I just stood up too quickly." "You sure?" "Mhm." You smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine." She wasn't convinced but she also knew better than to fuss. "You better text me when you get home." "I will." "And actually do it." "I will." "You said that last time." "I forgot." "You always forget." "I know."

Back at the apartment you kicked your shoes off by the door. The silence greeted you immediately. Oba was somewhere over the Atlantic by now. You smiled softly at the thought. He'd probably be asleep or trying to be. You wandered into the kitchen. Opened the fridge again. Still nothing. You settled for toast, made one slice, ate half, couldn't finish it. Your phone buzzed. Oba A picture appeared before the call. He'd clearly just boarded. Still wearing his hoodie. Seatbelt fastened. One eyebrow raised because he'd clearly expected you to answer immediately. You accepted with a smile. "You home?" "Mhm." "You eaten?" "...Sort of." His expression changed instantly. "What does 'sort of' mean?" "I had toast." "'Had'?" "Half." He frowned. "You love toast." "I know." "You alright?" You smiled quickly. "I'm just tired." He watched you carefully through the screen. Long enough that you shifted slightly. "What?" "You don't look like you're just tired." Your heart squeezed. He noticed everything. Always. "I promise." You softened your voice. "I'm okay." He looked unconvinced. "You'd tell me if you weren't?" "Always." "You promise?" "I promise." He nodded slowly. Not because he completely believed you. Because he trusted you. "If you still feel like this tomorrow" "I know. I'll call the doctor." "You'll call the doctor." You laughed. "I'll call the doctor." "Good." The cabin crew announced something over the speakers. He sighed. "They're making us switch to airplane mode." "I suppose that's probably sensible." "So they keep telling me." He smiled. "I'll call when I land." "I know." "I love you." "I love you too." The call ended.

You stood in the quiet apartment for another moment before wandering into the bathroom to get ready for bed. As you brushed your teeth, your eyes drifted absentmindedly towards the small calendar hanging beside the mirror. You frowned. Stepped closer. Your toothbrush slowly stopped moving. You counted backwards, then forwards. Once. Twice. Three times. "...Huh." The word escaped before you realised you'd spoken. You reached into the drawer beneath the sink. Pulled out your phone. Opened your calendar. Compared the dates. Your heartbeat picked up just a fraction. Not panic. Not excitement. Just realisation. You were late. Not by much. Only a few days. Enough that it could have been stress. Travel. Work. Any number of completely ordinary things. You looked at your reflection in the mirror. Then back down at the calendar. Your hand instinctively rested against the edge of the sink. For the first time since leaving the café Lola's teasing from the week before echoed quietly in your mind. "Maybe you're pregnant." You'd laughed then. Now you weren't laughing anymore. You weren't jumping to conclusions either. Just standing in the warm bathroom light suddenly aware that your future might be a little closer than you'd ever dared to imagine.

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The first thing you did on Thursday morning was open the calendar, again. You stared at the little square marked with today's date. Counted backwards. Then forwards. Then backwards once more. "No." You frowned. You hadn't counted wrong. You were definitely late. Not by much. Just enough to make you notice. You leaned against the kitchen counter with your coffee, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek. "It'll be work." You murmured it aloud. "Or stress. Definitely stress." Your apartment had barely seen you properly in the last two weeks. Blueprints covered the dining table. Your laptop had become a permanent fixture in the kitchen. You'd been working late, sleeping badly. Oba was halfway across Europe on tour. Your routine had been completely upside down. It made sense. Didn't it? Your phone buzzed. Lola Morning, pretty lady You smiled. Morning You hesitated. Then typed. Deleted. Typed again. Random question... how late is considered actually late? Three little dots appeared almost instantly. Disappeared. Appeared again. How late are YOU? You sighed. Like three days. The reply came back so quickly it was almost alarming. Don't move. You blinked. ??? No answer. Instead your phone rang. "Lola?" "Stay where you are." "I wasn't going anywhere." "I'm serious." "Lola..." "I'm coming over." You laughed. "You absolutely don't need to" "I'm already in my car." "Lola!" "You should've led with 'I'm late.'" "I don't even think I'm pregnant!" "I know!" "So why are you driving?" "Because." "Lola." "Because if it's nothing, we'll laugh about it over pancakes and if it isn't..." Her voice softened. "...you shouldn't have to find out by yourself." Your chest tightened. "You don't have to do that." "I know. I'm still doing it."

Twenty-five minutes later... Your doorbell rang. You opened the front door. Lola stood there wearing leggings, trainers, oversized sunglasses and carrying an unmistakable white pharmacy bag. You stared. "What's in the bag?" She smiled far too innocently. "Snacks." "Lola." "Emotional support snacks." "Lola." "...And five pregnancy tests." You burst into laughter. "Five?" "They were on offer." "You do not buy pregnancy tests because they're on offer!" "I panicked!" "You panicked?" "You texted me saying you were late!" "I asked a question!" "You buried the important information in the question!" You laughed so hard you had to step aside to let her in. The moment she reached the kitchen island, she emptied the contents of the bag. Five different pregnancy tests. Two chocolate bars. A family-sized bag of sour sweets. A carton of orange juice and a bouquet of sunflowers. You blinked. "Lola..." She looked suddenly sheepish. "I didn't know what the appropriate flowers were." "There aren't appropriate flowers." "I know. I just..." She shrugged. "I wanted to bring you something." Your eyes immediately filled. "You've made me cry before I've even taken one." "Oh no." She immediately walked over. "No crying yet. We don't even know anything."

Ten minutes later the two of you sat cross-legged on your bathroom floor. The unopened test rested on the closed toilet seat between you. Neither of you moved. You looked at it. Then at Lola. "I don't want to." She nodded. "I know." "What if it's positive?" "We'll deal with it." "What if it's negative?" "We'll deal with that too." You laughed nervously. "I don't even know why I'm nervous." "Because either answer changes something." You swallowed. "Yeah." Eventually you stood. "I'll..." You gestured vaguely towards the toilet. Lola immediately looked at the ceiling. "I suddenly find this light fitting fascinating." You laughed despite yourself. "You are ridiculous." "I know."

A few minutes later the test sat on the bathroom counter. The little cap replaced. The instructions said three minutes, three minutes had never sounded so long. Lola set a timer on her phone. Then immediately grabbed your hand. "Distraction." "Good idea." She launched into a story about Trick attempting to make pasta for Lash the previous week. Apparently he'd somehow managed to burn water. You laughed. "You cannot burn water." "I know." "He found a way." "You are lying." "I swear on my career." One minute. Two. Your laughter slowly faded. Neither of you looked at the counter. Neither of you wanted to be the first. Lola squeezed your hand. "You don't have to." "I know." "We can throw it away." "I know." "We can buy another tomorrow." You smiled weakly. "No. If I'm doing it I should look."

The timer chimed. Neither of you moved. "...You look," you whispered. Lola immediately shook her head. "Absolutely not." "Please." "No." "I'm scared." "I know but this is your moment." You took one slow breath. Then another. Slowly you turned around, reached towards the counter, picked up the test. Your heart pounded so loudly it almost hurt. You looked down. Two pink lines. Perfectly clear. Your breath caught. "No..." Lola's voice was barely above a whisper. "What?" You couldn't answer. Instead you simply turned the test around with trembling fingers. Lola looked. Her eyes immediately widened. One hand flew over her mouth. "Oh..." Silence filled the bathroom. Complete. Utter. Silence. You looked at each other. Then back at the test. Then at each other again. A tiny laugh escaped you. Followed almost instantly by tears. "I'm pregnant." The words sounded impossible. Like they belonged to somebody else. Lola's own eyes filled. "Oh my God..." She was beside you in an instant. Wrapping both arms around you before the test had even left your hand. You clung to her. Laughing. Crying. Doing both at exactly the same time. "I wasn't expecting..." "I know." "I only wanted to stop wondering." "I know." "I thought it'd be negative." "I know." She rubbed slow circles across your back until your breathing steadied.

Eventually you both pulled back. Your hand drifted instinctively to your stomach, it looked exactly the same. You felt exactly the same. And yet nothing would ever be exactly the same again. Lola followed the movement. Then looked back up at you with tears still shining in her eyes. "So..." A smile slowly spread across her face. "You've just made me an honorary auntie." A watery laugh escaped you. "I think I have." She immediately grinned. "I am going to spoil this child rotten." You laughed again before your smile softened. Your eyes drifted towards your phone lying on the bathroom sink. The lock screen was still a photograph of you and Oba, taken after one of his RAW main events. He was kissing your temple. You were laughing at something he'd whispered. Your thumb gently brushed across the screen. "I wish he was here." Lola looked at the photograph too. "So do I." She slipped an arm around your shoulders. "But..." A smile tugged at her lips. "I have a feeling the world's happiest future dad is about to get the surprise of his life."

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The secret lasted exactly four hours before you almost ruined it. Not because you couldn't keep it. Because every single thought in your head somehow circled back to him. You'd walk into the kitchen. Oba's going to be a dad. You'd fold laundry. Our baby is going to wear his hoodies one day. You'd catch yourself smiling at absolutely nothing. We're having a baby. It felt impossible that the rest of the world was simply carrying on. People walked past your apartment window, cars drove through the street below, emails still arrived, meetings still happened. And somehow nobody else knew that your entire universe had quietly shifted.

Lola had stayed until the afternoon. Not because you needed looking after. Because neither of you could quite stop smiling. At one point you'd found yourselves sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by pregnancy tests. All five of them. "I still think five was excessive." Lola grinned. "I regret nothing." "You absolutely panic-bought them." "I absolutely did." "You bought three different brands." "I wanted scientific consensus." You laughed so hard your stomach hurt. By the time she finally stood to leave, she'd hugged you at least six times. At the front door she paused. "So..." You looked up. "So?" "When are you telling him?" You looked instinctively towards your phone resting on the kitchen island. "I don't know." "You'll know." "I want..." You searched for the words. "I don't want him to hear it." Lola smiled. "You want him to feel it." You nodded immediately. "Exactly. I want to see his face. I want to hug him. I want..." Your voice softened into little more than a whisper. "I want to watch him become a dad." Lola's eyes shimmered “He deserves that. So do you."

When the apartment fell quiet again you wandered slowly into your bedroom. Your gaze drifted towards Oba's side of the wardrobe. Without really thinking you opened it. His hoodies hung neatly beside one another. Training tops folded with military precision. You smiled. One of the grey hoodies disappeared from its hanger. You pulled it over your head, it swallowed you whole. The sleeves covered your hands, it still smelled like him. Fresh laundry detergent. His aftershave. Something that was simply Oba. You curled up on the sofa beneath a blanket. One hand rested unconsciously over your stomach. The other clutched your phone.

That evening it buzzed.

Oba – FaceTime

Your heart immediately leapt. You answered almost too quickly. He frowned playfully. "You've stolen my hoodie." You looked down. "...Maybe." "I've been looking for that." "You are currently in Germany." "I know." "So I don't think you were." He laughed quietly. "You look comfortable." "I am." "It suits you." "You say that every time." "I mean it every time." For a while the conversation stayed wonderfully ordinary. He complained about airport food. You complained about a client changing their mind for the fourth time. He showed you the ridiculous view from his hotel window. You showed him that one of your houseplants had finally grown a new leaf. He looked genuinely excited. "I told you moving the fern would help." "You are never letting that go, are you?" "No." Then without warning he smiled. "I miss you." The words were quiet. Automatic. Like breathing. Your throat tightened. "I miss you too." "I wish you were here." "So do I." "I keep reaching for you." He looked faintly embarrassed admitting it. "You know in bed?" You nodded. "I know." "I woke up this morning. I rolled over. There was nobody there." He smiled sheepishly. "I hugged a pillow." A laugh escaped you. "Did it help?" "No." "I thought not." "It wasn't you."

Your eyes stung. Just a little. You wanted to tell him. God you wanted to tell him so badly. You imagined saying the words. You're going to be a dad. You imagined the silence. His face. His smile. His tears. Then you imagined him hearing it through a phone screen thousands of miles away. No. He deserved more than that. "You alright?" His voice pulled you back. You blinked quickly. "Hm?" "You disappeared." "Oh." You smiled. "I was just...” You stopped yourself. "...thinking." He tilted his head, “dangerous” A knock sounded on his hotel door. "Oba?" One of the production assistants. "Five minutes!" He looked towards the door. Then back to you. "They're dragging me away again." You smiled softly. "They usually do." He sighed dramatically. "I liked it better when we were still talking." "So did I."

He hesitated. "I've got one more week." "I know." "Then I'm home." "I know." "I was thinking..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...maybe we could disappear for a couple of days." You smiled. "Disappear?" "No phones. No wrestling. No work. Just us." Your heart melted. "I'd love that." "We'll find somewhere quiet." "Maybe with a lake. You like lakes." "I do." "And somewhere with one of those ridiculously oversized sofas." You laughed. "So you can squash me again?" "I prefer the word cuddle." "I prefer the word squash." He smiled. "I'll make it up to you." "You don't have anything to make up." "I've been away." "It's your job." "I know." "I still miss you." "So do I."

Before he could say anything else your hand drifted, entirely unconsciously, to your stomach. A tiny gesture. One you'd already begun making without thinking. His eyes followed the movement for the briefest second. Then his smile softened. "You've got your hand there." You froze. "Oh." You looked down. "I didn't even realise." "You've done it three times during this call." Your heart skipped. Had you? You quickly laughed it off. "I must just be comfortable." "Mhm." He didn't sound suspicious. Just curious. "You always look comfortable when you hold yourself." You smiled. "I suppose I do." The moment passed. He never questioned it again.

"I should let you go." "You should." "You first." "You first." He laughed. "You've started doing that on purpose." "I absolutely have." "I love you." The words were effortless. Warm. Certain. "I love you too." The call ended. The apartment fell quiet once more. You looked down. Your hand was still resting over your stomach. This time you left it there. A tiny smile found its way onto your face. "He's already talking about taking us away," you whispered into the empty apartment. The word slipped out before you could stop it. Us. Not me. Not him. Us. You laughed softly, tears prickling at your eyes again. "Just one more week." You smiled down at the life only you knew about. "Then Daddy gets to meet you."

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Seven days. That was all. Seven days of smiling at FaceTime calls. Seven days of catching yourself almost saying it. Seven days of instinctively resting your hand over your stomach whenever nobody was looking. Seven days of wanting nothing more than for Oba to come home. Now you stood in the arrivals hall at Orlando International Airport, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as another wave of passengers spilled through the automatic doors. Your phone buzzed. Oba Landed. Five minutes. You smiled. I'll be right where you left me. Around you, families reunited. Children ran into waiting arms. Couples kissed. Taxi drivers held signs above their heads. The arrivals board flicked over to another flight. Normally, you loved people watching. Today you couldn't focus on anyone except the sliding doors. Your heart thumped a little faster every time they opened. "There he is." The words escaped before you even realised you'd spoken them. He hadn't seen you yet. Oba emerged from the corridor pulling a large black suitcase behind him. Grey hoodie, baseball cap, backpack slung over one shoulder, tired. You could see it immediately. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes. His shoulders sat a little heavier than usual. He looked like a man who'd spent the last week living out of airports and hotels. Then he looked up. His eyes found yours instantly. Everything changed. His shoulders relaxed. The tiredness disappeared beneath the smile that spread slowly across his face. Warm. Unmistakably yours. "There you are." You barely had time to smile before he'd crossed the distance between you. The suitcase handle slipped from his hand with a dull clatter. Neither of you cared. His arms wrapped around you with an almost relieved exhale. Like he'd been holding his breath for an entire week. "There you are," he repeated quietly into your hair. You laughed, your own arms tightening around his waist. "I've been here." "I know. I've missed you. So much."

For a long moment neither of you moved. People walked around you. Announcements echoed overhead. A toddler laughed somewhere behind you. None of it mattered. Oba simply held you. One hand spread across the middle of your back. The other cradling the back of your head. His cheek rested against your hair. Home. Finally. "You've lost weight." The words were so quiet you almost missed them. You pulled back just enough to look up at him. "What?" He frowned faintly. "I don't know. You feel..." He searched for the words. "smaller." You blinked. Then laughed. "I've been busy." "You've been forgetting lunch." It wasn't a question. You smiled sheepishly. "Maybe once." "Y/N." "Twice?" His eyebrows lifted. "Three times?" You sighed dramatically. "You're impossible." "You've been eating?" "Yes." He looked unconvinced. You resisted the urge to glance down at your stomach. Technically you had been eating just not very much. Without another word, he reached down for his suitcase. Then immediately reached for your hand. His fingers threaded naturally through yours. Like they had every single day since you'd started dating. Neither of you acknowledged it. It simply happened. The way breathing happened. The way sunrise happened, automatic.

The drive home was filled with wonderfully ordinary conversation. Trick had somehow managed to leave a boot in Milan. Lash had accidentally ordered enough room service for four people. One of the ring crew had nearly missed the team bus in Paris. You told him about work. About Kelani finally buying another plant. About Lola insisting she'd become obsessed with baking. You carefully avoided mentioning why. Halfway home his hand found yours again across the centre console. He wasn't even looking. He simply reached. You smiled to yourself before lacing your fingers with his. "You alright?" He glanced over. "Mhm." "You've gone quiet." "I was just thinking." "Dangerous." "It is." He smiled. "I was thinking..." He squeezed your hand gently. "...how much better everything feels when you're here." Your heart ached. "It was only a week." "It was a long week." "It was."

When you finally pulled into the apartment complex, you barely made it through the front door before he stopped. You turned back. "What?" He set his suitcase down in the hallway. Then stepped towards you. "What are you doing?" "I forgot something." You laughed. "Not this again." "I did." "You definitely didn't." "I did." "You've got your suitcase." "Yes." "Your backpack." "Yes." "Your keys." "Yes." "So..." He smiled. "I forgot to kiss you properly." You shook your head, laughing. "You are unbelievable." "I know." He cupped your face with both hands. Not hurried. Not desperate. Just grateful. His forehead rested against yours for a second before he kissed you softly, slowly. The kiss lingered just long enough to say everything words couldn't. When he pulled back, his nose brushed yours. "There." He smiled. "Much better."

You watched him disappear into the bedroom to unpack while you wandered into the kitchen. Your heart was racing. Not because he'd come home. Because the gift box you'd hidden in the top cupboard suddenly felt very, very real. You looked towards the hallway. He was humming quietly to himself while putting clothes away, completely unaware. You rested both hands against the kitchen counter. Took one long, steadying breath. "You've got this," you whispered to yourself. Then, instinctively, your hand drifted to your stomach. A smile spread across your face. "He made it home." Your voice was barely audible. "You don't have to keep the secret anymore."

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The apartment felt unusually quiet. Not uncomfortable. Expectant. Oba had been home for almost an hour. His suitcase sat half-unpacked in the bedroom. Laundry hummed away in the washing machine. One of your playlists drifted softly through the speakers in the living room. Everything looked exactly the same. Only nothing felt the same to you anymore. Because hidden in the cupboard above the fridge was a little cream gift box and inside it your whole world. "You alright?" His voice carried from the hallway. You jumped slightly. "Hm?" He wandered into the kitchen wearing one of his old black T-shirts and a pair of grey joggers. Freshly showered. Hair still damp. He smiled immediately. "You've done that three times." "What?" "Disappeared." "I have not." "You have." His hands settled lightly around your waist. Comfortable. Familiar. He kissed your forehead. "You sure you're alright?" Your heartbeat quickened. Now. It had to be now. "I'm okay." "You don't look convinced." "I..." You looked into his eyes. "I actually got you something." His eyebrows lifted. "A gift?" "Mhm." "For surviving Europe?" You smiled. "Something like that." "You know you didn't have to." "I know. I wanted to."

He watched as you crossed the kitchen. Opened the cupboard above the fridge. Reached onto the very top shelf. His curiosity grew immediately. "What have you hidden up there?" "You'll see." You climbed carefully back down with a small cream box held against your chest. A neat sage-green ribbon was tied around it. No labels. No explanation. Just a gift. You walked back towards him. Suddenly your hands felt impossibly unsteady. "I know it's not your birthday." He smiled. "I'd noticed." "And it's not an anniversary." "I'd noticed that too." "I just..." Your voice caught. "I wanted you to have it." He accepted the box carefully. Like you always accepted gifts. With complete attention. No rushing, no tearing paper. He untied the ribbon slowly. Folded it neatly beside him on the counter. Then lifted the lid. Inside resting on soft white tissue paper lay a tiny pair of knitted cream booties. Smaller than his palm. His brow furrowed. He smiled faintly. "They're beautiful." He looked up. "You bought baby shoes?" You nodded once, unable to trust your voice. He looked back into the box beneath the booties sat the pregnancy test. Two unmistakable pink lines. Next to it a folded card. His fingers moved almost automatically. He unfolded it. Your handwriting filled the page. Our biggest adventure starts in nine months. Can't wait to meet you, Daddy. Silence. Complete. Utter. Silence.

He read it once. Then again. Then a third time. The words didn't seem to fit inside his head. His eyes slowly lifted from the card. To you. Then almost involuntarily, to your stomach. You'd never seen him look frightened before. Not in the ring. Not backstage. Not anywhere. But this wasn't fear. It was awe. Pure overwhelming disbelief. His lips parted. "Y/N?" Your own tears had already begun falling. You nodded. "I'm pregnant." The words were barely more than a whisper. Another silence. His eyes searched yours. Almost as if asking permission to believe it. "Really?" You laughed through your tears. "Really." The card slipped gently from his fingers onto the kitchen island. Not because he'd dropped it. Because suddenly nothing in the world mattered except you. He crossed the tiny gap between you in two strides. His hands found your face first. Gentle. Careful. As though he was terrified you might disappear. "You" His voice cracked completely. "We're" You nodded again, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. "We're having a baby." A sound escaped him then. Half laugh. Half sob. He pulled you against his chest so quickly you squeaked. "Oh." He buried his face against your hair. "Oh my God." You'd never heard him cry before. Not once. Now you felt his shoulders shaking, tiny, barely noticeable. But enough. Enough for your own tears to fall harder. "I didn't" He laughed breathlessly. "I didn't know." "I know." "I thought..." He shook his head. "I thought you were just tired." "I was." "I should've known." "You couldn't have." "I should've." You cupped his face. "No. You couldn't."

For a long moment he simply looked at you. Like he was memorising every inch of your face all over again. Then slowly his eyes drifted downward. Towards your stomach. There wasn't a bump, not yet. Nothing visible. Only the knowledge that everything had changed. He hesitated, almost shyly. "Can I?" Your heart melted. "You never have to ask." His large hand moved carefully. Slower than you'd ever seen him move. Until it rested lightly against your lower stomach. Warm, protective, reverent. He didn't press. He simply held it there. His thumb barely moved. His eyes never left where his hand rested. "Our baby..." He whispered the words like a prayer. "Our baby." You watched tears gather in his eyes again. "They're so little." "So little." He smiled through them. "I already love them." The sentence came so naturally. So immediately. You felt your own breath catch. "You don't even know them yet." "I do." He looked back up at you. "They're ours." That was enough.

He leaned down. Slowly. Almost uncertainly. Then pressed the gentlest kiss against your stomach. A kiss so soft you barely felt it. When he looked back up he was smiling. Not the confident smile the WWE Universe knew. Not the proud smile he wore after victories. Something quieter, more vulnerable. Wonder written across every feature. "Hello, little one." His voice was barely audible. "I'm your dad." Fresh tears escaped you. He looked up immediately. "Oh. I'm sorry. Did I make you cry?" You laughed through them. "No. You just" You reached for his face again. "You've wanted this for so long." His expression softened. "So have you." He rested his forehead against yours. One hand never leaving your waist. The other still gently covering your stomach. "I've spent years imagining this." He admitted it so quietly you almost missed it. "I imagined telling my children stories, teaching them to ride a bike, holding them." He smiled. "But" His thumb stroked one tiny circle over your stomach. "I never imagined this part." "What part?" He looked at you with eyes overflowing with love. "The part where they were here" He glanced down. "and I got to love them before I'd even met them." You wrapped your arms around his neck. He folded you into another embrace immediately. This one somehow even gentler than the last. As though his body had already begun making room for one more person. One hand remained spread protectively across your back. The other never strayed far from where it rested over the tiny life growing beneath your heart and somewhere between your quiet laughter, shared tears, and whispered I love yous Oba realised something that made his chest feel too full to contain it. He had spent years believing that every championship he'd won was the greatest moment of his life. He'd never been more certain of anything than he was now. Standing barefoot in the kitchen of the home you'd built together holding the woman he loved with his hand resting over the child you'd created together, he had already met the greatest achievement of his life. Not a title. Not a main event. Not a standing ovation. His family.

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The next morning Oba woke before you. That, in itself, was unusual. Normally, the two of you woke tangled together, one inevitably disturbing the other as you fought over blankets or complained about alarms. Today the bedroom remained completely still. Soft morning light filtered through the curtains, painting pale gold across the duvet. For a long moment, Oba simply lay there. Watching you sleep. Your hair had escaped its braid sometime during the night. One hand rested beneath your cheek. The other curled instinctively against your stomach. He smiled. He never would have noticed that before. Now, he couldn't stop noticing. Carefully, so carefully the mattress barely dipped he shifted onto one elbow. His eyes wandered across your face. God he loved you. He'd always loved you. But something inside him had shifted the moment you'd placed that tiny pair of knitted booties into his hands. The woman he'd fallen hopelessly in love with was carrying his child. Their child. His chest tightened all over again. He still wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't dreaming. Without thinking his hand drifted across the duvet. It stopped just above your waist. He hesitated, he didn't want to wake you. Didn't want to disturb either of you. Then, with the gentlest touch imaginable he laid his palm lightly over your stomach. There wasn't a bump. Not yet. Nothing to feel. Nothing to see. Still his smile softened. "Morning, little one." His voice was barely more than breath. "I hope you slept better than your dad."

"I heard that." He looked up so quickly he almost jumped. You hadn't opened your eyes. A sleepy smile tugged at your lips instead. "You were supposed to be asleep." "I was." "You were spying." "You were talking." He laughed quietly. "I thought I was whispering." "You have a very deep whisper." Finally, your eyes fluttered open. The first thing you saw was him. Already smiling. Already looking at you like he'd won the lottery. "What?" You laughed. "Nothing." He leaned down, pressing a slow kiss against your forehead. Then your nose. Then your cheek. You giggled. "You're missing one." "I know." He smiled before finally kissing your lips. Slow. Unhurried. Like he intended to spend the rest of his life making up for the week he'd been away. When he pulled back his forehead rested against yours. "I love you." "I love you too." He smiled again. "I know."

Silence settled between you, comfortable. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in getting out of bed. Eventually you looked down. His hand was still resting carefully over your stomach. "You've left it there." He glanced down, almost surprised. "I have." "You don't have to." "I know." His thumb made one absent-minded circle through the duvet. "I just" He looked a little embarrassed. "I like knowing where you both are." The words landed softly. Not you. Not the baby. You both. Your heart melted. "You know they can't hear you yet." "I know." "You know they definitely can't hear your bedtime stories." "I know." "You know they're about the size of a blueberry." "I know." He smiled. "I still think they deserve a good morning." You laughed. "I don't think they're going to complain." "I should hope not."

Eventually, you stretched with a groan. "I should get up." "Mhm." "I've got work." "Mhm." "You've got today off." "Mhm." You narrowed your eyes. "You're going to stop me, aren't you?" "I wasn't planning to." "You were thinking about it." "...Maybe." You laughed as you pushed yourself upright. "I'm still going to work." "I know." "I feel completely fine." "I know." "I'm not fragile." "I know." He nodded along to every sentence so earnestly that it became impossible not to smile. "Then why do you look like that?" "What?" "Like you're about to wrap me in bubble wrap." He looked genuinely thoughtful. "I hadn't considered bubble wrap." You stared at him. "Oba." "I'm joking." "You absolutely weren't." "I was mostly joking."

You climbed out of bed before he could continue. The second your feet touched the floor he stood too, automatically. Without thinking. Following you into the bathroom. Then into the kitchen. Then while you made coffee. Every time you turned around there he was. "What?" He blinked innocently. "What?" "You keep following me." "I'm walking." "To exactly the same places I am." "We live here." You folded your arms. "You are literally standing so close I can feel you breathing." He looked down. Realised he was. Took one tiny step backwards. "There." You laughed. "Better?" "No." Another tiny step forward. "There." You shook your head, smiling. "You are impossible." He wrapped his arms loosely around your waist from behind as you buttered a slice of toast. His chin settled on top of your head. Neither of you spoke. You simply leaned back into him. The kitchen filled with quiet. The kettle clicked off. Birds sang outside the open window. It felt peaceful. "You know," you murmured, "they're not going anywhere." "Hm?" You rested your hand over his where it lay across your stomach. "The baby. They're staying right here." He looked down at your joined hands. "I know." "So you don't have to check every thirty seconds." A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I know." "You've touched my stomach at least twenty times since yesterday." "I have not." "You absolutely have." "...Maybe nineteen." You burst into laughter. "I counted." "I had a feeling you might." He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss into your hair. "I just keep forgetting." "Forgetting what?" "That this" His hand shifted slightly, covering yours. "is real." You turned within his arms until you were facing him. His eyes were damp again. Not with fear. Not with worry. Just wonder. "You really are going to be a dad." He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "I really am." "And you're going to be an amazing one." His forehead found yours again. "So are you." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I spent so long praying I'd find the right person." His thumb stroked softly over the back of your hand. "I never imagined I'd be lucky enough to find the right family too." You reached up, cupping his cheek. "You did." "I did." "And they're both standing right here." He smiled. "No." He looked down, his hand once again settling instinctively over your stomach. "One of them's still a little too short."

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The appointment had been circled on the calendar for twelve days. Not because either of you were likely to forget. Because Oba had checked it every single morning, sometimes twice. He'd glance at the calendar while making coffee, then again while leaving for the gym. As though looking at the date often enough might somehow make it arrive sooner. "It's tomorrow." He announced it while brushing his teeth. You laughed from the bedroom. "I know." "I just wanted to make sure you knew." "I promise I remembered the hospital appointment." "You've got a lot going on." "So do you." "I know. I still remembered."

The next morning he was awake before his alarm, again. You cracked one eye open as he quietly padded around the bedroom. He was fully dressed. Gym bag packed, shoes on, standing in the doorway. "Oba." He turned immediately. "Morning." "What time is it?" He looked at his watch. "Six." "You've been awake for ages." "Maybe." "Our appointment isn't until ten." "I know." "You've got four hours." "I know." You squinted suspiciously at him. "You couldn't sleep." His eyes looked down just enough for you to notice. "...No."

By half past nine, the two of you sat side by side in the waiting room. The maternity clinic buzzed quietly around you. A receptionist smiled warmly as she checked patients in, a couple across from you whispered over a tiny knitted cardigan they'd bought too early, another family tried to entertain an impatient toddler with picture books. Everything felt, soft, gentle. Different from every other hospital waiting room you'd ever sat in. Oba's hand found yours the second you sat down. You smiled. "Nervous?" He looked over. "...A little." "A little?" "...A lot." You squeezed his fingers. "You don't have to be." "I know. I just" He looked around the room. "What if something's wrong?" Your heart softened immediately. You shifted your chair a little closer. "Hey." He met your eyes. "We don't know anything yet." "No." "So..." You lifted your joined hands. "until somebody tells us otherwise everything is okay." He nodded slowly. "Everything is okay." "Y/N?" A nurse appeared in the doorway. You both stood together. Oba automatically reached for your handbag before you could. You laughed quietly. "I can carry my own bag." "I know. But let me"

The examination room was brighter than you'd expected. There was a monitor mounted on the wall. An examination bed beneath it. A little ultrasound machine humming quietly beside the window. The sonographer introduced herself with a warm smile. "First baby?" You both nodded. She grinned knowingly. "I thought so." After a few routine questions, she smiled at you. "If you'd like to lie back" You settled carefully onto the examination bed. Oba immediately moved beside you. Close enough that your shoulders brushed. Without saying a word his hand slipped into yours again, warm, steady. You hadn't even realized how nervous you were until that moment. "This gel might be a little cold. It usually is." You laughed. "I've heard." The sonographer smiled. "Everybody says that." A little blob of cool gel landed against your stomach. You flinched. "Told you." "You weren't wrong." The room fell quiet. The probe moved slowly. The monitor flickered. Grey shapes appeared. You frowned. "I don't..." The sonographer smiled. "Give me one second." She adjusted the angle. Pressed slightly differently. "There we go." A tiny shape appeared. Impossible to make out at first. Just small, so unbelievably small. The sonographer pointed gently. "There's your baby." Silence. Complete silence. You felt Oba's fingers tighten around yours. Not painfully. Just instinctively. "They're measuring beautifully." The sonographer continued speaking. You barely heard her. Your eyes never left the screen. "There." She pointed again. "Can you see that little flicker?" You squinted. "I think so." "That's the heartbeat."

Then the room filled with a rapid sound. Fast. Steady. Like tiny galloping footsteps. For a second neither of you breathed. The heartbeat echoed gently around the room. Your baby's heartbeat, real, strong, alive. Beside you Oba went completely still. You turned your head. His eyes hadn't left the monitor once. His jaw worked slightly. Like he was trying very hard to keep control of his emotions. The sonographer smiled softly. "It never gets old." You looked back at the screen. Your own vision had become suspiciously blurry. "They're really in there." The words escaped before you could stop them. The sonographer laughed gently. "They really are." A tiny sound beside you drew your attention again. You looked over. Oba was crying, quietly. Almost apologetically. He immediately wiped at his face with his free hand. "I'm sorry." The apology came automatically. You smiled through your own tears. "What are you apologising for?" "I don't..." He laughed shakily. "I didn't mean to." "You don't have to mean to." The sonographer quietly continued taking measurements, giving the two of you a little space. Oba never let go of your hand. Not once. Not for the entire appointment. Eventually the sonographer printed several tiny ultrasound photographs. She handed them over with a smile. "Congratulations. They look absolutely perfect." You accepted them carefully. Like they might fall apart if you held them too tightly.

The moment you stepped outside the hospital neither of you walked any further. You simply stood on the pavement together. Looking down at the little black-and-white pictures. "They've got your nose." You looked up at him. "You cannot tell that." "I can." "You absolutely cannot." "I definitely can." "They're the size of a strawberry." He smiled. "They still have your nose." You laughed, shaking your head. "You are ridiculous." "I know." He looked back down at the photograph. Then, without warning, he leaned down until he was crouching in front of you. "What are you doing?" you asked, laughing. He didn't answer straight away. Instead, he rested both hands gently on either side of your waist. Then he looked up, not at you first, but at your stomach. His expression softened into something so full of love it almost took your breath away. "Hi again, little one," he murmured. "I heard you today." A tear slipped down your cheek. "I hope you know" His thumb stroked lightly across the fabric of your dress. "your mommy's taking very good care of you." Then he looked up at you. "And I'm going to spend the rest of my life taking very good care of both of you." You laughed softly through your tears. "You know they're only about this big, right?" Holding your fingers a few inches apart. He smiled. "I know." "And they definitely didn't understand any of that." "I know. But one day they will." He rose to his feet, gently cupping your face before kissing you. Slowly. Tenderly. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. "You know what my favourite part was?" he asked. "The heartbeat?" He smiled. "That too." "What then?" He glanced down at the ultrasound photo still clutched safely in your hand. "They've spent their whole life hearing yours." You frowned slightly. "What do you mean?" His hand found yours once more. "The first sound our baby ever knew" He placed your joined hands over your heart. "was the person I love most." His smile was impossibly soft. "I think that's the safest place in the world for them to begin."

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The group chat had been suspiciously quiet. Which, in itself, was suspicious. Normally, it was impossible to open your phone without finding at least thirty unread messages. Trick sending memes. Kelani asking everyone to vote between two almost identical paint colours. Lash posting videos of whatever Damian had accidentally broken that week. Lola reacting to absolutely everything with voice notes instead of text. Today, nothing. Until your phone buzzed. Family Circus Lash: Brunch tomorrow?? Kelani: PLEASE I'VE BEEN CRAVING PANCAKES FOR THREE DAYS. Trick: That's because you always crave pancakes.

The restaurant was one you'd all visited dozens of times. A quiet little place on the edge of Orlando with outdoor seating beneath huge oak trees. You and Oba arrived first. Oba insisted on arriving twenty minutes early. "You know they'll all be late." "I know." "So why are we here already?" "So we can choose the best table." You narrowed your eyes. "Or?" "Or I wanted to make sure the chairs were comfortable." You laughed. "The chairs?" "Mhm." "Oba." "What?" "They're wooden." "I noticed." "You inspected them." "I did." "You wobbled one." "It was uneven." "You asked the waiter for another." "It was safer." You buried your face in his shoulder, laughing. "You've become unbelievable." "I've become prepared."

One by one everyone arrived. Trick first, loudly announcing his own entrance before he'd even reached the table Lash followed, immediately hugging you. Kelani appeared carrying another new plant while Carmelo trailed behind shaking his head. Nobody questioned it anymore. Damian wandered in a minute later with coffee already in hand. Lola was last. She caught your eye almost immediately. A tiny smile passed between the two of you. The secret was still safe. "So." Trick dropped into his chair. "Why do I feel like something's going on?" Nobody answered. He looked around the table. "You all have faces." "We always have faces," Kelani replied. "You know what I mean." He pointed dramatically. "Lola's smiling." "I smile." "Not like that." He turned towards Oba. "And you're somehow smiling even more." Oba blinked innocently. "I am?" "Brother" Trick leaned forward. "it's creepy." The waiter arrived with menus. Before you could reach for yours Oba had already picked it up and handed it to you. Before you could pour your own water he'd filled your glass. Before you'd even realised your napkin had slipped from your lap he'd bent to retrieve it. Lash watched the entire sequence unfold. Then slowly looked at Damian. "Is he always like this?" Damian snorted into his coffee. "Worse."

"I can do things for myself." You murmured quietly. "I know." "You've opened three doors today." "I know." "You moved my chair." "I know." "You carried my handbag." "I know." "You offered to cut my pancakes." "...I got carried away." "You think?" Across the table Kelani tilted her head. "I've never seen him this bad." "This bad?" Oba repeated. “You looked offended that Y/N picked up her own fork." "I wasn't offended." "You looked personally betrayed." "I was surprised." Lola coughed suspiciously into her drink to hide a laugh.

Conversation drifted easily. Work. Training. Upcoming shows. Damian's latest travel disaster. Kelani somehow convincing Carmelo to help build flat-pack furniture. Eventually the food arrived. The smell hit you almost instantly. You looked down at your plate. French toast, maple syrup, fresh strawberries. Normally one of your favourites. Today your stomach turned. "Oh." You quietly pushed the plate away. Oba noticed before anyone else. "Everything okay?" You nodded automatically. "Mhm." "You sure?" "I just..." You wrinkled your nose. "It suddenly smells really sweet." He frowned. "You want something else?" "No, I'm okay." "You haven't eaten." "I will." "You sure?" You smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure." Without another word, he quietly flagged down the waiter. "Could we swap this for plain toast, please?" You looked at him. "You don't have to" "It's alright," the waiter smiled warmly. "Happens all the time." The words slipped out casually. Happens all the time. Lola immediately looked down into her coffee. Damian suddenly became very interested in the menu. Kelani blinked. "What happens all the time?" Silence. You looked at Oba. He looked at you. Your heart started racing. The waiter looked between the two of you. Then realisation crossed his face. "Oh." He laughed awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I assumed—" "It's alright," Oba said gently. "No harm done." The waiter hurried away looking thoroughly embarrassed.

The table remained unusually quiet. Trick looked from you to Oba to Lola then back again. "...Why did everyone just go weird?" Lola bit the inside of her cheek so hard it almost hurt. Damian sighed into his coffee. Kelani frowned. "You all know something." Nobody spoke. You looked at Oba. He looked back. Then very slowly he reached across the table. Took your hand. Your wedding-ring finger wasn't wearing a ring yet. But his thumb rubbed gentle circles over it anyway. He smiled. A smile so impossibly proud it made your chest ache. "You want to tell them?" He whispered. You looked around the table. At your friends. Your family. Lola was already crying and you hadn't even spoken. You laughed softly. Then nodded. "I think..." Your free hand instinctively rested against your stomach. "...we're going to need one more chair next year." Complete silence. Absolute silence. Trick frowned, Kelani blinked, Lash's mouth slowly fell open, Damian smiled immediately, Lola burst into tears. It took approximately three seconds. Then Trick practically shouted, "...NO WAY!" The entire patio turned to look at your table. He didn't care. He was already halfway out of his chair, pointing dramatically at Oba. "I KNEW YOU TWO WERE HIDING SOMETHING!" "You absolutely did not," Lash laughed. "I DO NOW!" "You literally said you thought they were buying a dog," Kelani reminded him. "...Both things can be true!" Everyone laughed. Everyone except Oba. He hadn't looked away from you once. Your fingers were still intertwined. His other hand rested lightly over yours where it lay against your stomach beneath the table. Not claiming. Not guarding. Simply there, connected to both of you.

As the congratulations, laughter and teasing erupted around the table, he leaned close enough that only you could hear him. "Our baby's already so loved." You turned your head towards him. His eyes were shining. "So is their mom." He kissed your temple gently. Around you, Trick was already loudly arguing that he was obviously going to be the baby's favourite uncle, while Lash declared that absolutely wasn't happening because she intended to spoil them beyond recognition. The debate only grew louder. You laughed until your sides hurt. And for the first time the future didn't feel like something far away. It felt like it was already beginning.

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The first few weeks after telling everyone settled into something wonderfully ordinary. Ordinary, if ordinary included Trick attempting to teach your baby football chants through your stomach. If ordinary included Lash arriving at your apartment with three different maternity pillows because she "couldn't decide which one looked the comfiest." If ordinary included Lola texting every morning. Morning, mama Without fail. Every single day.

Oba had become even worse. Not dramatically, subtly. He still let you do everything you'd always done. He simply appeared. If you reached for something on a high shelf, he was already beside you. If you stood up too quickly, his hand instinctively settled against the small of your back. If you yawned a bottle of water somehow materialised in front of you. You'd stopped asking where he kept finding them. "You know I'm still perfectly capable?" You asked one evening as he quietly carried the grocery bags into the apartment. "I know." "I can carry shopping." "I know." "There are literally two apples in that bag." "I know." "You've carried it like it weighs fifty kilos." "I know." He smiled as he unpacked everything. You wandered over. Wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. "You don't have to look after me every second." He turned within your embrace. His hands immediately found your hips. "I know." "Then why do you?" He thought about it, longer than you expected. Finally "Because I can." The answer was so simple. So honest. You couldn't even argue with it.

Three days later RAW had finally wrapped. The arena buzzed with the familiar end-of-show energy. Production crews dismantled cameras. Road cases rolled through corridors.

Someone somewhere shouted for a missing lighting technician. You leaned comfortably against the wall outside Oba's locker room while replying to an email from work. Inside you could hear him laughing with Trick. Probably about something ridiculous. Some things never changed. "There you are." Bayley appeared first, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "I've been looking everywhere." "You found me." "Barely." She looked dramatically offended. "Apparently your boyfriend has become a six-foot-five security system." You laughed. "That sounds about right." Before you could answer again the locker room door opened. Oba stepped out, gym bag slung over one shoulder. The second he saw you his entire face softened. "There you are." Bayley immediately pointed at him. "See?" "What?" Bayley looked between the pair of you. "You two are disgustingly in love." "I know." Neither of you even tried denying it. The three of you began walking towards the parking garage together. Bayley chatting animatedly about something involving Lyra and a travel disaster. You laughed. Oba listened quietly. One hand rested lightly against the middle of your back as you walked. Not steering. Just present. The corridor narrowed near one of the loading bays. Crew members hurried in both directions. Large equipment cases rolled past. Someone called for space. Everything became just a little busier.

It happened in less than a second. A production assistant came around the corner at speed. Pushing a tall equipment cart stacked high with flight cases. He wasn't looking ahead. He was looking over his shoulder while answering someone behind him. You stepped sideways instinctively, directly into its path. "Y/N!" You barely registered Oba's voice. One second you'd been standing beside him. The next a strong arm wrapped firmly around your waist. Your feet left the ground completely. He pulled you backwards against his chest just as the equipment cart rattled past exactly where you'd been standing. The corner of the case missed you by inches. The production assistant froze. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry! I didn't see—" "It's okay." You answered automatically. "I'm fine." The poor man looked horrified. "I am so, so sorry. It was my fault." He looked ready to apologise another twenty times. "It's alright." Honestly it was. Nothing had happened. Except the arm around your waist hadn't moved. Neither had the hand spread protectively across your stomach. You looked up. Oba hadn't said a word. Not one. His jaw had tightened. Every muscle in his shoulders looked rigid. His breathing had become just a fraction too controlled. Bayley noticed immediately. "Oba." He didn't answer. His eyes remained fixed on the cart disappearing around the corner. Then very deliberately he looked down at you. "You okay?" The question was almost painfully gentle. You nodded. "I'm okay." "You sure?" "I'm sure." "Nothing hurts?" "No." "You didn't twist anything?" "No." He searched your face. Then your hands. Then your stomach. Almost unconsciously. Checking. Making sure.

You reached up. Placed both hands against his face. "Hey." His eyes immediately found yours. "We're okay." His shoulders rose with one slow breath. Then fell again. "We're okay." You repeated it. Slowly. "So are they." For a second his composure cracked. Not dramatically. Just enough that you saw genuine fear flicker across his face. "I know." He whispered. "I just..." His voice caught. "...I saw the cart." Bayley quietly stepped away. Giving the two of you space. You wrapped your arms around him. He hugged you immediately. One hand cradled the back of your head. The other settled protectively across your lower back. You felt his heartbeat, fast. Much faster than usual. "You scared me." The admission came quietly against your hair. "So much." You closed your eyes. "I'm sorry." He pulled back just enough to shake his head. "No. You've got nothing to apologise for." "I should've..." He stopped himself. "You should've what?" "I don't know. Seen it. Moved sooner. Done something." You smiled sadly. "You did." He frowned. "I did?" "You caught me." For a long moment he simply looked at you. Then, with a quiet sigh, he rested his forehead against yours. "I don't think I've ever been that frightened." "You've been in Hell in a Cell matches." "I know. I'd rather do another one." You laughed softly. "I believe you." He smiled faintly. "I can't lose either of you." The words hung between you. Raw. Honest. You reached for his hand. Then gently guided it until it rested over your stomach once more. "You won't." He looked down at where your hands covered his. Then back at you. His breathing finally steadied.

Around you, the bustle of the arena carried on as if nothing had happened. Road cases rolled by, crew members chatted, someone laughed in the distance. Life continued. But for Oba there was only the feeling of your heartbeat beneath one hand and the tiny life the two of you had created beneath the other. It grounded him. Reminded him that despite the brief flash of panic you were both still right there. Safe. Exactly where he needed you to be.

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Four months. You were sixteen weeks pregnant and, according to every pregnancy app Lola insisted on sending you screenshots from your baby was now roughly the size of an avocado. Oba had become strangely attached to fruit comparisons. "Our avocado." "Our little avocado." "Our favourite avocado." You'd stopped questioning it.

Your bump had finally appeared. Not dramatically. Just enough that your clothes fit a little differently. Enough that complete strangers occasionally smiled knowingly. Enough that Oba had spent the better part of an afternoon staring at you from across the sofa before quietly announcing, "You're round." You'd laughed so hard you'd nearly cried. "Thank you?" "I mean" He'd looked genuinely flustered. "I meant beautiful." "I know." "I just" He'd reached out almost shyly. "I can see them now." He never stopped looking. Never in a way that made you uncomfortable. Sometimes you'd catch him smiling to himself while you folded laundry or while you were reading on the sofa or while you absentmindedly rested a bowl of popcorn on top of your bump during movie night. He looked at you as though he'd somehow forgotten this was really happening. Every single day.

RAW had run late again. By the time the two of you arrived home, it was almost midnight. You kicked your shoes off by the front door with a dramatic groan. "I am officially done being a functional human." Oba chuckled quietly behind you. "I noticed." "My feet hurt." "I know." "My back hurts." "I know." "I think the baby is currently using my bladder as a trampoline." "I" He blinked. "don't think that's medically accurate." "It feels medically accurate." You wandered into the living room. The oversized sectional sofa immediately called your name. You barely managed to sit down before another groan escaped you. "Oh..." Oba appeared in front of you almost instantly. "What hurts?" "Nothing." "You just groaned." "I sat down." "You made a different groan." "There are different groans?" "There are now." Before you could protest he disappeared. You frowned. "Oba?" No answer. Thirty seconds later he returned carrying three things. A glass of water, a heating pad and your favourite oversized blanket. You couldn't help smiling.

He handed you the water first. "Drink." "Yes, sir." The heating pad followed. "For your back." "Thank you." Then he carefully tucked the blanket over your legs. Only once he'd apparently decided you were sufficiently comfortable did he finally sit down beside you. Except he didn't really sit. Within seconds his head was in your lap, his long legs stretched across the rest of the sofa. One enormous arm wrapped loosely around your waist. You looked down. "Comfortable?" "Mhm." "You've stolen my lap." "I know." "I was using it." "I know." "You don't sound sorry." "I'm not." You laughed quietly. His cheek rested gently against your thigh. One hand remained spread across the side of your bump. Not moving. Simply existing there. Like it belonged, maybe it did. Your fingers drifted automatically into his hair. Carefully working between the neat rows of his braids. He let out the smallest sigh. Your nails lightly scratched along his scalp. The reaction was immediate, his shoulders visibly relaxed, his eyes fluttered closed, a contented hum vibrated through his chest. You laughed. "Oh my goodness." "What?" "You've turned into a giant cat." "I don't know what you're talking about." "You absolutely do." "You scratched my head." "I did." "It was nice." "You purred." "I did not." "You absolutely purred." He opened one eye. "I sighed." "You purred." "I sighed." "You purred." "I sighed with enthusiasm." You burst into laughter. "I'll allow that."

Silence settled over the room again. The television played quietly in the background. Neither of you were watching it. You continued gently scratching between his braids, slowly, rhythmically. His breathing grew slower. Heavier. Almost sleepy. Then without warning, a tiny thump landed beneath his palm. He froze, completely. You looked down. "Did you feel that?" He didn't answer, another tiny kick. Softer this time. His eyes slowly lifted to yours, wide, almost disbelieving. "They..." His voice cracked. "They kicked me." You smiled so brightly your cheeks hurt. "They did." He looked back down immediately both hands now carefully cupping either side of your bump as though afraid to miss it again. Another tiny movement, smaller than before. Still unmistakable. A laugh escaped him. Not loud. Just pure. "They're saying hello." "They might just be stretching." "No." He smiled. "They know I'm here." You laughed. "You're impossible." "I think they recognised my voice." "They're four months old." "I've been talking to them every day." "You have." "So" He shrugged. "I think we're friends." You watched him for a long moment. He was completely captivated, every tiny flutter, every almost imperceptible movement. Nothing else in the world existed.

Eventually he leaned down. Pressed another impossibly gentle kiss against your bump. "Hello again, little one." His voice was warm. "So I've got something very important to tell you." You smiled knowingly. "What now?" He ignored you completely. "You've got the best mommy in the whole world." Your heart melted. "And..." He continued solemnly. "I know she pretends I'm dramatic." You laughed. "They don't know what dramatic means." "They will." "They absolutely will." "So" His smile widened. "don't listen to her." You snorted. "Oh, really?" "I'm extremely sensible." "You carried three different snacks in your backpack yesterday because I mentioned I might get hungry." "It was responsible." "You packed two blankets." "It gets cold." "You brought a neck pillow." "You looked tired." "You packed spare socks." "...I stand by that decision." You laughed so hard you had to wipe tears from your eyes. He looked up at you, smiling with that same quiet, adoring expression he'd worn since the day you'd handed him those tiny knitted booties. Then, without a word, he shifted again. Until he was somehow even closer. His head remained in your lap, one arm stayed around your waist, his hand rested over your bump, his shoulder pressed against your hip. You looked down, amused. "Can you actually get any closer?" He considered the question with complete seriousness. "Probably." "You are unbelievable." He smiled without opening his eyes. "I know." You shook your head fondly and returned your fingers to his hair. Within moments, another quiet, contented hum escaped him. "There it is again," you whispered. One eye cracked open. "What?" "The purring." "I am not purring." "No?" "No." Another blissful hum vibrated through his chest as your nails scratched gently along his scalp. You raised an eyebrow. He stayed completely still for a moment. Then sighed dramatically. "I may be purring a little." You laughed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "A little?" He smiled against your knee. "Only because my favourite people are both here." His hand gave your bump the gentlest squeeze. "I've got everything I need." And, for perhaps the first time in his life, the giant who spent his career standing under arena lights, lifting championships above his head while thousands of people chanted his name. Fell asleep, curled against you. Listening to your heartbeat. With one hand resting over the tiny heartbeat that had already become his entire world.

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Twenty weeks, halfway. Somehow you were halfway. You weren't entirely sure how that had happened. One minute you'd been staring at two pink lines on a bathroom floor with Lola. The next you found yourself standing in front of the bedroom mirror, turning sideways as you tried to smooth down one of Oba's oversized T-shirts over a very obvious baby bump. "You've grown." You murmured to yourself. A tiny kick answered. You smiled. "I know." Behind you two strong arms wrapped carefully around your waist. Not squeezing, never squeezing anymore. Just holding. Oba rested his chin on top of your shoulder. "What are my favourite people doing?" You laughed softly. "Apparently growing." "They're very good at it." "They're making my jeans impossible." "I noticed." His hands spread gently across either side of your bump. His smile appeared instantly. "There they are." The baby kicked again. Almost on cue. Oba's eyes widened. "They heard me." "They probably heard your voice." "I told you they know me." You rolled your eyes affectionately. "You've been saying that for months." "Because it's true."

Today was the anatomy scan. The sonographer had asked if you'd wanted to know the baby's sex. You'd both looked at each other. Then nodded at exactly the same time. Neither of you cared, healthy, that was all either of you truly wanted. But you couldn't pretend you weren't curious. The waiting room felt strangely familiar now. Less frightening than the first time. More comfortable. You knew where to check in, you recognised the receptionist, the little coffee machine in the corner still made terrible hot chocolate. Somehow it all felt reassuring. "You look calmer." You whispered. Oba looked over. "I am." "You couldn't sleep before the last appointment." "I know." "You slept all night." "I did." "So what's changed?" He smiled. "I know they're there now." His hand found yours. "I've heard them. I've seen them. They kick me every evening." You laughed. "They're your biggest fan." The appointment began much like the first. Measurements, tiny fingers, tiny toes. The sonographer smiled constantly. "They're very active today." "They always are when their dad talks." You couldn't help teasing. Oba looked smug. "I told you." The sonographer laughed. "Babies often respond to familiar voices." He looked at you with entirely too much satisfaction. "I told you." "Oh, don't start." "I was scientifically correct." "You've become unbearable." "I've become validated."

Eventually the sonographer smiled. "So" She looked between the two of you. "Would you like to know?" The room suddenly became very quiet. You looked at Oba. He squeezed your hand. "Ready?" You nodded. "I think so." She moved the probe slightly, smiled. Then looked back at you both. "Congratulations." Another tiny pause. "You're having" She grinned. "a little girl." Silence. Absolute silence. You looked at the monitor, then at Oba. He hadn't moved, at all. "Oba?" His eyes were fixed on the screen. "A" His voice disappeared entirely. The sonographer smiled knowingly. "A little girl." He blinked once. Then again. His free hand immediately covered his mouth. "Oh." The tiny word cracked straight down the middle. You'd seen him emotional before. But this was different. His shoulders shook with one silent laugh. Then another. "Oh my..." He couldn't seem to finish a sentence. You reached for him immediately. He looked at you. His eyes were overflowing. "We're..." He laughed breathlessly. "We're having a daughter." You nodded, already crying yourself. "We are." He looked back at the screen. At the tiny little person wriggling around without a care in the world. "Our daughter." The words sounded almost reverent. Like something too precious to say loudly. "Our little girl." The sonographer quietly continued the examination while pretending not to notice the two of you falling apart beside her. She handed over another collection of ultrasound pictures. "This one" She pointed to one. "looks like she's already got her hand by her face." Oba leaned closer. "She does." "She'll probably move again before she's born." He smiled softly. "She's perfect."

Outside the hospital the Florida sunshine felt brighter somehow. Neither of you spoke as you walked slowly towards the car. You simply held hands. Eventually Oba stopped walking. You looked over. "What?" He turned to face you fully. "You know..." He smiled through tears that still hadn't completely disappeared. "I've spent years imagining teaching a little boy football." You listened quietly. "I imagined wrestling in the garden. I imagined teaching him to shave." He laughed softly. “I imagined all of it." You waited. Then he smiled again. "But" His thumb brushed across your knuckles. "I've never been happier to be wrong." You felt tears gathering again. "You were?" He nodded immediately. "I get to raise a little girl." His voice softened into almost a whisper. "I get to show her how she's supposed to be treated." His eyes found yours. "Because she'll grow up watching how I love her mom." Your breath caught. "I get to tell her she's strong and clever and kind and enough. Every single day." He smiled. "So that nobody else ever gets to decide her worth." You wrapped your arms around him. He held you instantly. Carefully. One hand spread across your back. The other rested over the curve of your bump. "Our little girl." He whispered again. As if he still couldn't quite believe it. The baby kicked suddenly. Right between his palm and yours. You both laughed. "I think she agrees." You smiled. "Or she's telling us to stop crying." He chuckled. "Probably that." He crouched down slowly until he was level with your bump. His hands rested gently against either side. "Hello, princess." You laughed. "We are not starting that." He ignored you completely. "I've got something very important to tell you." Another kick. He gasped dramatically. "See? She answered." "She absolutely did not." "She did." You folded your arms, smiling despite yourself. "What exactly is this very important thing?" He looked down at your stomach with the same awestruck smile he'd worn since the day he found out you were pregnant. Then spoke quietly. "So I know you're not here yet and I know you've got a while before we meet. But..." His voice caught. "I've loved you since before I knew you were going to exist." Tears immediately blurred your vision. "And I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you know exactly how precious you are." He kissed your bump gently. "Your mommy already does that for me." He looked up at you. "I think we're going to make a pretty good team." You smiled through your tears. "I think so too." As he stood, he instinctively reached for your hand again. Your fingers intertwined with practiced ease. You walked back to the car together. One tiny hand hidden safely beneath your heart. One enormous hand wrapped securely around yours and a father already hopelessly, irrevocably wrapped around his daughter's little finger before she'd even taken her first breath.

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Twenty-four weeks. The baby had developed a routine. Unfortunately for you that routine seemed to involve becoming an Olympic gymnast every evening around half past nine. It didn't matter whether you were watching television, reading, trying to fall asleep or halfway through brushing your teeth. Without fail she woke up. "She's definitely your daughter." You muttered one evening, looking down at your stomach. "Why?" Oba called from the kitchen. "She waits until bedtime to cause chaos." He laughed loudly enough for you to hear him. "That's genetic." "It absolutely is." A few minutes later, he wandered into the living room carrying two mugs. One hot chocolate for you. One tea for himself. He stopped halfway across the room. "She's awake." You looked up. "How do you know?" "You've got the smile." "What smile?" "The one you get every time she starts moving." You settled yourself into the corner of the sofa, blanket over your legs. Oba sat beside you. Not beside, really. Within seconds, he'd somehow manoeuvred himself until one thigh rested against yours. His arm draped comfortably behind your shoulders, close enough that you could feel his warmth, exactly where he always seemed happiest. "She's been busy tonight." You murmured. "Oh?" You nodded. "I think she's discovered elbows." He smiled. "Can I?" "You never have to ask." His hand settled carefully over your bump. The movement had become second nature now. Gentle. Unhurried. Always checking your face first. Always making sure you were comfortable. He smiled. "Hello, sweetheart." His voice dropped automatically. "Daddy's home." Nothing. He waited patiently. "I'm being ignored." You laughed. "She's probably asleep again." "I've just been replaced." "You've known her six months." "I thought we were friends." "We are." "You sure?" "I'm fairly confident."

As if offended by the conversation a sharp little kick landed directly beneath his palm. He froze. "There she is." You smiled. "Told you." Another kick. Then another. His entire face lit up. "You feel that?" He asked excitedly. "I've been feeling it all day." "I know. But..." He shook his head with a disbelieving laugh. "She kicked me. I think she's saying hello. I think she missed me." "You were gone for four hours." "It was a long four hours." Then your stomach shifted, actually shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough that the fabric of your T-shirt visibly jumped beneath his hand. Both of you stopped breathing. "...Oba?" He didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on one tiny spot. Another little roll, this time you both saw it. Clear as day. "Oh" The word escaped him like a prayer. "Did" He looked at you. "Did you see that?" You laughed through the sudden tears gathering in your eyes. "I did." "I wasn't imagining it?" "No." "She..." His voice broke. "She moved."

He slowly removed his hand not because he wanted to. Because he needed to know. A few seconds later another unmistakable little thump appeared beneath your skin. Visible. Undeniable. His mouth fell open. "Oh my God." He looked from your stomach to your face then back again. His eyes were already filling. "I can see her." The sentence came out as little more than a whisper. "I can actually..." He laughed shakily. "...see my daughter." You reached for his hand. Placed it back over the place she'd just kicked. Almost immediately she responded, another tiny movement. As though she recognised him. Oba laughed. Actually laughed. The deep, booming laugh you loved so much. "She's showing off." "She probably is." "I think she's excited." "She might just have hiccups." "No." He smiled. "She's saying hello." The movement continued, tiny little rolls, gentle little kicks. Every single one seemed to amaze him all over again. Eventually he leaned sideways until his face was only a few inches away from your bump. "So..." He whispered conspiratorially. "I know your mommy keeps telling everyone you're stubborn." You gasped dramatically. "I do not." He ignored you completely. "I think you get that from me." You laughed. "Oh, do you?" Another kick. He grinned triumphantly. "Case closed." You shook your head. "You've become impossible." "I've become a father." "You've become smug." "I've become correct."

He stayed there for almost twenty minutes. Talking quietly. Telling her about training. About Trick. About how he'd finally convinced Damian to watch one of his favourite films. Every now and then she'd kick or roll or stretch. Every single time his face lit up like he'd just won another championship. Eventually the little movements slowed. Then stopped altogether. You smiled. "I think she's fallen asleep." He nodded thoughtfully. "I probably talked too much." "You definitely talked too much." "I got excited." "I noticed." Very carefully he kissed your bump. Then rested his forehead against it for just a second. "Sleep well, sweetheart." His voice was barely audible. "I'll see you in the morning." He started to pull away. Then paused. "No." He looked up at you. "I've forgotten something." You smiled knowingly. "What?" He bent down again, another gentle kiss. This time followed by, "I love you." A beat of silence. "And..." He looked up at you with a sheepish grin. "I love your mommy even more." You laughed. "That's a dangerous thing to say." "It isn't a competition." "It absolutely will be one day." He considered that. "You're right." Then, with complete sincerity, he looked back down at your bump. "So I love you both exactly the same." You raised an eyebrow. "That's also dangerous." "It is?" "When she's three and asks who's your favourite..." Realisation dawned across his face. "Oh." "You've trapped yourself." He sighed dramatically. "I have." You leaned down, pressing a kiss into his curls before gently scratching between his braids. Another unmistakable hum vibrated against your leg. You smiled, threading your fingers through his hair again. He closed his eyes almost instantly, leaning into your touch while one hand remained spread protectively over your daughter. Completely surrounded by his favourite people. Exactly where he'd always wanted to be.

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Twenty-eight weeks. The third trimester. According to every pregnancy app on your phone your daughter was now roughly the size of an eggplant. According to Oba she was "the strongest little girl on Earth." His evidence? "She kicked me so hard yesterday I nearly dropped the TV remote." You'd laughed for a solid five minutes. She'd also discovered your ribs. Which was considerably less funny. You shifted for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. The sofa wasn't comfortable. The armchair wasn't comfortable. The dining chair definitely wasn't comfortable. Standing wasn't comfortable. Lying down wasn't comfortable. Breathing felt slightly negotiable. With a frustrated sigh, you pushed yourself to your feet again. "No." You muttered to yourself. "I hate this one too." Across the room, Oba looked up from the wrestling documentary he'd been pretending to watch. "You alright?" "Mhm." "You sighed." "I moved." "You've been moving for twenty minutes." "I know." "You haven't sat still." "I know." He muted the television.

You wandered over to the window. Then back again. Then into the kitchen. Then returned with a glass of water you'd immediately forgotten to drink. By the time you sat down again you were standing less than thirty seconds later. Oba watched the entire performance quietly. His brows knitting together a little more each time. Finally he stood and walked over. "What hurts?" You smiled automatically. "Nothing." He gave you a look. "The truth." You sighed softly. "It's silly." "I don't care." "My back." He nodded. "My hips." Another nod. "My ribs." "Mhm." "I can't get comfortable." Your smile faltered. "And I don't know why I'm so" You searched for the word. "frustrated." His expression softened immediately. "Oh, sweetheart." Three little words. So gentle they almost undid you. "I know she's healthy." You continued quickly. "And I'm grateful. So grateful. I just" You laughed weakly. "I miss sitting like a normal person." That did it. Your voice wobbled unexpectedly. "I miss tying my shoes without making weird noises. I miss sleeping through the night." "I miss..." Fresh tears filled your eyes. "...I miss not feeling like my body's borrowed."

The sentence barely left your mouth before you felt him. Not speaking. Not trying to fix it. Just wrapping you in his arms. Slowly, carefully, leaving plenty of room for your bump. Your forehead rested against his chest. One enormous hand stroked slowly up and down your back. The other cradled the back of your head. "You know what?" His voice rumbled quietly above you. "What?" "I think you're allowed." You frowned. "Allowed what?" "To have days where this is hard." You looked up. "But she's worth it." "I know." "And I'm happy." "I know." "And I wouldn't change anything." "I know." His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, catching a tear before it could fall. "But that doesn't mean it isn't hard." You let out a shaky breath. "I feel guilty complaining." "I don't want you to." "I know women who've had much harder pregnancies." "I know." "I've been lucky." "You have." "So why am I crying because my ribs hurt?" He smiled sadly. "Because your ribs hurt." A tiny kick landed between the two of you. Almost perfectly timed. You both looked down. Oba chuckled softly. "I think somebody's listening." You rubbed your bump fondly. "She's probably wondering what all the fuss is about." Without another word he disappeared upstairs. You blinked. "Oba?" "I'm coming back." His voice echoed down the staircase.

Five minutes later he returned carrying what looked like half the bedroom. Your pregnancy pillow, three different cushions, the soft blanket Lola had bought you, a heating pad, your fluffy socks and a small notebook. You stared. "What's all that?" "I've been thinking. I made observations." "Oh no." He ignored your teasing. "You always end up leaning to the left." He arranged one cushion carefully. "You kick the blanket off after about twenty minutes." Another cushion. "Your back hurts less if your knees are higher." The pregnancy pillow followed. "And" He looked surprisingly proud of himself. "I think I've solved the sofa." You watched him rearrange every cushion with complete concentration. Moving one slightly, adjusting another, stepping back to assess his work. Then moving one again. "You've made" You tilted your head. "a nest." He looked up. "I have." "You've built me a nest." "I have." "It looks like a cloud." "That's the goal." You lowered yourself onto the sofa, carefully. Expecting nothing. Then "Oh." You blinked. "Oh." You shifted once, twice. Your eyes widened. "Oba." He looked almost nervous. "Yeah?" "I..." You shifted again. "...I'm comfortable." His entire face lit up. "You are?" "I'm actually comfortable." He smiled so widely you thought his cheeks might hurt. "I fixed it." "You fixed it." "I fixed the sofa."

Before he could celebrate too much you reached out, caught his hand. "Come here." He sat immediately or rather attempted to. Within seconds, he'd somehow ended up half lying beside you, one arm around your shoulders, his head resting carefully against your upper arm. You laughed. "You couldn't stay away, could you?" "No." "I was gone for approximately six seconds." "I know. I missed you." You rolled your eyes affectionately. "You're ridiculous." "I've accepted that." For a while neither of you spoke. Your fingers wandered into his braids, gently scratching along his scalp. His breathing immediately slowed. A familiar little hum escaped him. "There." You whispered. "My favourite sound." He cracked one eye open. "...The television?" "No." "The kettle?" "No." "The…" "You." He looked confused. "My what?" "That happy little hum you make." "I don't hum." "You absolutely do." "I've never hummed in my life." "You've been humming for nearly a year." He looked genuinely unconvinced. "I have?" "You only do it when you're comfortable." "...Really?" "Mhm. When I'm scratching your head. When you've got your head in my lap. When you're cuddling me. When the baby's kicking." His expression softened. "I never noticed." "I did."

He turned his head just enough to look at you. "You know" "What?" "You always notice me." The words were quiet. "You notice when I'm tired. When I'm pretending everything's fine. When I haven't eaten. You notice when I'm worried before I even say anything." His thumb found your hand. "And now" He smiled gently. "you noticed something I didn't even know I did." Your heart swelled. "That's because I love you." "I know." "You know?" "I know." He smiled. "You pay attention." Another tiny kick nudged against your side. Oba's hand instinctively found your bump. "There she is." He whispered. "She's awake." You smiled, resting your hand over his. "I think she likes the nest." He looked around proudly at the mountain of cushions he'd constructed. "I knew she'd appreciate good engineering." You laughed so hard you had to wipe fresh tears from your eyes. "You built a pillow fort." "I built structural support." "You built a pillow fort." He smiled without a hint of shame. "My girls deserve the best." The words made your chest tighten. Not just the baby. Not just you. Both of you. His girls. You leaned over as far as your bump would allow and kissed his forehead. "You know something?" "What?" "I think we're pretty lucky." He didn't hesitate for even a second. "I know we are." Then he settled impossibly closer, somehow finding yet another way to fit himself against you despite his enormous frame. You laughed into his shoulder. "I swear, one day you're going to climb inside my skin." His muffled reply came against your hair. "If that's an option, I'd certainly consider it." You snorted. "That's the creepiest thing you've ever said." He looked up with complete seriousness. "...I meant it romantically." "It absolutely did not sound romantic." "It did in my head." "It sounded like something from a horror film." He thought about it for a second. "...Fair." You both dissolved into laughter, your daughter's tiny kicks joining in as if she found her dad just as entertaining as you did.

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The group chat had been suspiciously active all week. Mostly because Trick had somehow convinced everyone that his homemade burgers were "life changing." Family Circus Trick: Burgers at Y/N and Oba’s on Sunday. Kelani: Why there? Trick: Bigger garden. You: That's not how invitations work. Trick: It is now. Lash: I'll bring dessert. Damian: Don't let Trick near the barbecue. Trick: I WAS FRAMED. Carmelo: You literally set your own apron on fire. Trick: Allegedly.

By four o'clock your garden was full. Music drifted quietly from the speaker on the patio. The barbecue smoked lazily in the corner. Trick and Damian were already arguing over whether the burgers were cooked enough. Kelani was chasing everyone around with a bottle of sunscreen. Lash had somehow taken over your kitchen. Carmelo was filming Trick's increasingly dramatic protests for social media. Lola appeared beside you carrying two glasses of lemonade. She handed one to you before immediately slipping an arm around your shoulders. "How are my girls?" You smiled. "We're good." "How's my niece?" You laughed. "You still so sure they are girl?" Lola grinned proudly. "100%" "You aren’t changing your mind are you?" "I've been saying girl since eight weeks." "You have no evidence." "I have vibes." Across the garden Oba looked over the second he saw you standing for more than a minute he frowned. Lola noticed immediately. "Oh" She smirked. "here he comes." You didn't even have time to turn around. Two familiar hands settled lightly on your hips. "What are we laughing about?" Lola folded her arms. "Nothing." "Mhm." "I was just asking how they were." Oba's entire expression softened. "They're good." You looked up at him. "I was answering." "I know." "I can answer." "I know." Lola snorted. "He literally answered for you." "I noticed." Before the conversation could continue, "OBA!" Trick shouted dramatically from the barbecue. "I NEED A SECOND OPINION!" "You've got six people here." "I NEED THE BIG MAN." Oba sighed dramatically. "I'll be back." He kissed your forehead. Then your temple. Then, almost absentmindedly, your bump. Lola waited until he'd walked away. Then burst into laughter. "He didn't even realise he did that." You smiled softly. "He never does."

An hour later everyone had settled around the long outdoor table. Plates sat half-empty, someone had stolen half of Damian's chips, nobody admitted it. The conversation drifted easily between wrestling, travel stories and terrible jokes. It felt normal, comfortable, like home. Eventually Kelani looked at you. "So..." You looked back. "So?" "You know we're all thinking it." Lash nodded. "We've been incredibly respectful." "We have," Carmelo agreed. "We deserve recognition." Damian raised an eyebrow. "For what?" "For not asking." Lola tried very hard not to smile. Trick pointed dramatically across the table. "I've waited weeks." "You have?" "I deserve a medal." "You absolutely don't." "I've been dying." Oba chuckled quietly. "I know." "So..." Trick leaned forward. "When do we get to know?"

You looked at Oba. He was already looking at you. One silent conversation. The same one you'd been having since the beginning. Ready? Ready. Oba reached beneath the table. His fingers found yours. "You want to tell them?" You nodded. "I do." You stood slowly. Immediately six pairs of eyes followed you. Plus one very attentive Oba. You reached into the kitchen. Returning a few moments later carrying a small white gift bag. Lash frowned. "What is that?" "You'll see." You handed the bag to Trick. "Me?" "You've got the biggest mouth." "That's fair." He reached inside dramatically. Pulling out a tiny baby-sized WWE onesie. Soft pink, across the front in tiny gold lettering, Future World Champion

Silence. Complete silence. Trick looked at the onesie. Then at you. Then back again. His eyes became comically wide. "Girl?" You nodded. "We're having a little girl." Chaos. Absolute chaos. Lash screamed first. Actually screamed. She was out of her chair before anyone else had processed the words. She threw her arms around you carefully. "Oh my God! I KNEW IT!" "You did not," Kelani laughed. "I ABSOLUTELY DID." Kelani hugged you next. Then immediately crouched beside your chair. "Hi, little princess." She grinned. "I'm Auntie Lani." "I CALLED IT!" Lola announced triumphantly. "I TOLD EVERYBODY." She looked directly at Damian. "I literally have screenshots." Damian laughed. "You absolutely do." She walked straight over to you. No dramatic words. No speeches. Just a hug. Long, tight, careful. When she pulled back her eyes were already watery. "You remember?" She asked quietly. You nodded immediately. "The bathroom, the five pregnancy tests, the panic." You both laughed. "I remember." She smiled through tears. "Look how far we've come." You reached for her hand. "I couldn't have done that day without you." Lola's lip wobbled. "You won't do any of this without me." "I know." "I'm serious." "I know." "Three in the morning? I'm there. You need someone to cry with? I'm there. You need someone to tell Oba he's being ridiculous?" You both looked towards him.

Across the garden Oba was currently allowing Trick to excitedly explain why your daughter absolutely needed a tiny pair of wrestling boots. "No." Oba said immediately. "But tiny boots!" "No." "But imagine" "No." Lola laughed. "...He's already wrapped around her finger." "He has been since twenty weeks." Carmelo wandered over holding his phone. "I've got one question." "What?" "Who's taking the first family photo?" Before you could answer Oba appeared. Like he'd somehow sensed you were being photographed. He instinctively slipped one arm around your waist. The other hand rested gently beneath your bump. Always there. Always touching. Always connected. "Everyone in." Carmelo propped the phone against a flowerpot before jogging back into frame. Trick immediately threw an arm around Oba's shoulders. Kelani leaned against Lash. Damian stood behind Lola with one hand resting comfortably on her shoulder. The timer started counting down. Three. Two. One. Just before the picture was taken Oba looked down at you. Not the camera, you. His thumb stroked gently across the side of your bump. "You alright?" He whispered. You smiled. "I've never been better." The camera flashed. Capturing something none of you would truly appreciate until years later. Not just eight friends standing in a garden. Not just one couple expecting their first child. But the beginning of something much bigger. A little girl who, before she'd even taken her first breath, already had six honorary aunts and uncles arguing over who she'd love most and if anyone had looked closely at the photograph afterwards they would have noticed something else. While everyone else smiled at the camera Oba never looked away from the two people who had quietly become his entire world.

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Thirty-one weeks. Your daughter officially had a nursery, mostly. The cot had finally been built after four hours, two instruction manuals, one near fight between Trick and Damian over whether they'd attached one panel backwards. (It turned out they had.) Oba had quietly taken the screwdriver from both of them. The cot had somehow been finished fifteen minutes later. Neither man had spoken about it since. Lola had become obsessed with tiny clothes. Every time she saw something pink you received a photo. Every. Single. Time. Lola: LOOK AT THIS LITTLE DRESS. You: She'd wear this once and then immediately grow out of it. Lola: I'm buying it. You: Lola. She already has seventeen cardigans. Lola: She deserves eighteen.

By Saturday afternoon you genuinely believed you were just going to Lash and Kelani's apartment for lunch, nothing more. Lash had been suspiciously vague all week. "It's just us. Wear something comfortable. Don't bring anything." Those three sentences should have been your first clue. "You know they're planning something." You said as Oba parked outside. He smiled without looking at you. "Hm?" "They're being weird." "They're always weird." "Lash told me not to bring anything." "Very suspicious." "You knew." "I know nothing." "You are a terrible liar." "I've been told." The front door swung open before either of you knocked. Lola practically bounced into the hallway. "There you are!" Before you could even say hello she wrapped you in a careful hug. Then immediately crouched. "Hello, princess." She patted your bump gently. "I've missed you." Oba chuckled. "I think she's talking to the baby." "I am." Lola looked entirely unapologetic. "I see Y/N all the time."

The moment you stepped inside "Surprise!" The living room erupted. Pink, white and gold balloons floated above the windows. A long table overflowed with homemade food. Tiny baby clothes hung from string like bunting. Someone had even made little cupcakes with miniature wrestling belts made from icing. You burst into laughter. "You lot." Kelani beamed proudly. "We've been planning this for weeks." "We nearly told you six times," Lash admitted. "Mostly because Trick cannot keep a secret." "I kept it!" "You literally asked Y/N what size baby shower decorations she liked," Damian deadpanned. "I PANICKED." You looked around the room. Everyone was here. Lash, Kelani, Trick, Damian, Carmelo, Lola. Even a few of Oba's and your other close friends had quietly slipped in throughout the afternoon. The room felt warm, loved, safe. You felt your eyes sting. "What?" Lash asked immediately. "No crying." "I’m not" "You've got the face." "I do not." "You absolutely do." You laughed as tears escaped anyway. "It's just" You looked around the room again. "she's not even here yet." Lola's eyes softened immediately. "No." You smiled. "And she's already got all this." Before anyone else could answer a familiar arm wrapped around your shoulders. Oba. He'd stayed just behind you, letting you take everything in. Now his hand rested over yours where it lay on your bump. "You deserve all this." He murmured. "So does she."

The afternoon drifted by in a blur, games, food, far too much cake. Trick somehow losing every baby-themed quiz despite confidently insisting he'd "absolutely smash this." Damian quietly winning without celebrating. Lash pretending she wasn't keeping score. Then came the presents. "Oh no." You groaned. "I hate opening gifts in front of people." "We know." Kelani smiled. "So we're all opening them." One by one, tiny outfits, books, blankets, soft toys, a handmade quilt from Lash's mum, a tiny pair of trainers from Carmelo, a little football from Trick. "A football?" You laughed. "She's not even born." "It's called planning." Eventually Lola disappeared upstairs. Returning a moment later carrying one final gift. Unlike the others it wasn't wrapped. Just a simple white memory box tied with a pale pink ribbon. She sat beside you instead of standing. "This one's" She smiled. "a little different." Inside there were tiny milestone cards, a baby journal, a little silver bracelet, letters, lots of sealed envelopes. You looked up. "Lola?" She rubbed the back of her neck. "I wrote one for her eighteenth birthday." Your breath caught. "What?" "I know. It's ridiculous. I couldn't help it." You lifted another envelope. Each one was labelled. For your first day of school. For your first heartbreak. For when you doubt yourself. For when you need reminding how loved you are. You couldn't speak. "I wanted..." Lola's voice wobbled. "I wanted her to always have someone reminding her she's enough." Silence settled across the room. Even Trick stopped joking. You threw your arms around Lola. She hugged you back immediately. "I love you." You whispered. She sniffled. "I know. You've always loved me." "I always will." "And I'm going to love her exactly the same."

Across the room Oba quietly looked away. Damian noticed. "You alright?" He nodded once. "Yeah." "You don't look it." Oba smiled faintly. "I was just thinking." "Dangerous." He laughed quietly. "I know." His eyes drifted back towards you. You were still holding Lola, still crying, still laughing, surrounded by people who adored you. "Our daughter" He murmured almost to himself. "is never going to wonder if she's loved." Damian followed his gaze. "No." He smiled. "Not with this lot."

Later that afternoon as everyone chatted around the garden you wandered inside for five quiet minutes. Your feet had started aching again. You lowered yourself carefully onto the nursery rocking chair. Just breathing. The room smelled faintly of fresh paint and baby powder. Tiny sleepsuits hung neatly in the wardrobe. The mobile above the cot turned gently in the breeze from the open window. It was peaceful. A minute later the floorboards creaked. You smiled without looking up. "You found me." "I always do." Oba's voice was warm. He crossed the room before lowering himself onto his knees in front of you. Immediately his hands found yours. "You disappeared." "I needed five minutes." "I know." "You didn't have to come looking." "I know." He rested his cheek against your thigh. The familiar weight made you smile. Then without thinking he turned slightly. Until his ear rested gently against your bump. "What are you doing?" "Listening." "You can't hear anything." "I might." You laughed. A moment later your daughter kicked. Right against the side of his face. He jerked back in complete surprise. "She just kicked me!" You burst into uncontrollable laughter. "I think she heard you." He stared at your stomach in mock disbelief. "Did my own daughter just tell me to move?" Another kick. You laughed even harder. "I think that's a yes. He narrowed his eyes dramatically at your bump. "So that's how we're going to be?" Silence. Then another tiny kick. He gasped. "Oh." He looked up at you. "She's got your attitude." "I beg your pardon?" "I've known her approximately seven months. She's already teaming up against me." You shook your head, tears of laughter streaming down your face. He leaned forward once more, kissing your bump gently. "I still love you, even if you assault your father." Another kick. He sighed dramatically. "I've definitely been outnumbered." You smiled, reaching down to scratch gently between his braids. His eyes closed instantly. A contented hum filled the quiet nursery. He looked up at you with that same hopelessly adoring expression he'd worn since the day you'd handed him those tiny knitted booties. "This might actually be the best day of my life." You smiled, taking one of his hands and placing it over the gentle curve of your stomach. "Just wait until you meet her." He intertwined his fingers with yours over your bump. "I've got a feeling" His voice was soft with absolute certainty. "she's going to be even better than I imagined." And somehow despite already loving her beyond measure, you both knew he was right.

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At thirty six weeks the hospital bag had become a permanent fixture by the front door. It had started sensibly. One bag, essentials, a few babygrows, toiletries, phone chargers. Then Oba had discovered online packing lists. Now there were two bags, three blankets, a portable fan, an emergency snack bag, a second emergency snack bag and, for reasons you still couldn't explain a fully charged portable speaker. You'd stopped asking questions. "You know the hospital has electricity?" You asked one evening. "I know." "So why have you packed three power banks?" "In case." "In case what?" "The electricity leaves." You stared at him. "Leaves." "It could." "We're not giving birth in the wilderness." "You don't know that." "I... I do know that."

Lola had taken great delight in photographing the contents of his bag and sending them to the group chat. Family Circus Lola: Oba packed SIX pairs of socks. Kelani: SIX??? Trick: Respect. Damian: Why? Lola: HE SAID 'WHAT IF HER FEET GET COLD?' Lash: Y/N. blink twice if you need help. You laughed so hard your stomach hurt.Which immediately made Oba look concerned."You alright?""I'm laughing.""I know.""You look worried.""I don't.""You absolutely do."

The next morning you both had the day off. A rare coincidence. No flights. No media. No training. No appearances. Just home. The Florida sun was warm but not unbearable. The garden had become your favourite place over the past few weeks. You settled carefully onto the outdoor swing seat with a book you'd been trying to finish for nearly a month. You'd managed the same chapter four times. Every time your daughter kicked you lost your place. The back door slid open. You didn't even look up. "Morning." "Morning." Oba stepped outside carrying breakfast on a tray. Pancakes, fresh fruit, orange juice, tea. You smiled. "You made all this?" "I tried." "You tried?" "The pancakes are... rustic." You laughed. "They're blobs." "They're blob-adjacent." He set the tray down before helping you shuffle a little further along the swing. Not because you needed help. Because he'd quietly developed the habit of making sure you never had to awkwardly twist with your bump. You noticed every time. You never mentioned it. Once everything was settled he sat beside you. Close enough that your shoulders touched. Then closer still. Until your thigh rested against his. You smiled into your tea. "You physically can't sit more than six inches away from me." He considered it. "No." "You lasted twelve seconds." “You counted?" "I counted." The swing creaked gently. Birds chattered somewhere high in the trees. For a long while neither of you spoke. You simply ate breakfast. Shared fruit from the same plate. Occasionally stole bites from each other's pancakes. It was wonderfully ordinary.

"You've gone quiet." You murmured eventually. Oba looked out across the garden. "I've been thinking." Another few moments passed. Then, "Do you think..." He hesitated. "...I'll be good at this?" You lowered your mug. "What?" "Being her dad." The question was so unlike him that it caught you off guard. "You've never asked me that before." "I know." "Why now?" He looked down at his hands. "Because she's nearly here." His voice was quiet. "Up until now..." He smiled weakly. "I've had months to imagine it. "But" He looked towards the nursery window upstairs. “soon she'll actually be her and she'll need me." You reached across the small space between you. Taking both of his hands. "Oba." He met your eyes. "You've been her dad since the moment you found out about her." He frowned slightly. "I have?" "You talk to her every day. You read to her. You've learned how many weeks she is before I have. You built her nursery. You've already memorised where every nappy is." A tiny smile appeared. "You cried because she kicked you." He laughed quietly through his nose. "I did." "You've loved her for months." You squeezed his hands. "Being a good dad isn't something that starts the day she's born. It started the day you decided you wanted to be one." His eyes shimmered. "You've already done the hardest part." "What's that?" "You've made her feel loved before she's even met you."

He stared at you for a long moment, then quietly moved. Not saying anything. Simply shifting across the swing until he was almost curled around you. His forehead rested against your shoulder, one hand spread across your bump. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He admitted softly. "You'd survive." "I don't want to survive." He looked up at you. "I want" He searched for the right words. "this." He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "Our mornings. Our home. Our little girl. You." You smiled, brushing a thumb across his cheek. "You know what she's going to learn from you?" "What?" "That love is something you do." He looked confused. "What do you mean?" "You never just say it. You make breakfast, you remember my water bottle, you warm my side of the bed, you build pillow nests, you carry things without asking, you hold my hand every time we're in a car park, you check if I've eaten, you kiss my forehead when you think I'm asleep." His ears turned pink. "I didn't know you noticed that." "I notice everything." "You love people with your actions." You whispered. "She's going to grow up thinking that's normal. And do you know what?" He shook his head. "I hope she never settles for anything less." For a moment neither of you spoke. Then, as if she'd been listening all along your daughter gave one enormous kick. Strong enough to make the book on your lap wobble. You both laughed. "There she is." Oba grinned. "I think she's agreeing." "I think she's reminding us she's running out of room." He leaned down until he was level with your bump. "Sweetheart..." His voice softened immediately. "We're nearly there." He smiled to himself. "I know it's probably getting a little cramped. So just hang on a little longer. We're all ready to meet you." A tiny kick answered him. He looked up at you with that same awestruck expression that never seemed to fade. "Do you think" He smiled. "she knows we're waiting?" You looked down at where both your hands rested together over your bump. "I think" You intertwined your fingers with his. "she's known that her whole existence." The three of you sat there for a long time after that. The swing moving lazily beneath you. His head resting against yours. Your fingers absentmindedly scratching between his braids. The soft hum of his contentment mixing with birdsong and the breeze.

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It was 2:17 a.m, the house was silent, the only sounds were the steady hum of the air conditioning and Oba's quiet breathing beside you. You'd become so used to waking during the night that, at first, you assumed that was all it was. Another trip to the bathroom, another uncomfortable position, another tiny foot wedged somewhere beneath your ribs. You sighed softly, rolling onto your side. "Ow." Your lower back ached. Nothing unusual. Except a few seconds later it stopped. You frowned sleepily. That had been different. You pushed yourself upright slowly, trying not to wake Oba. He'd had a late flight home from RAW. He was exhausted. You could manage one trip to the bathroom without disturbing him. The hallway was dark. The wooden floor cool beneath your feet. Half asleep, you shuffled towards the bathroom. You'd just reached the doorway when a strange warmth spread suddenly. You froze. "Oh." You looked down. "Oh." For one completely surreal second your brain simply refused to process it. Then, "Oh." A little louder this time. "My" You blinked. "water." From the bedroom, the mattress creaked. Silence. Then., "...Y/N?" His voice was thick with sleep. "You okay?" You looked down again. Then back towards the bedroom. "Oba?" The moment he heard your voice he was awake. "What happened?" "I think" You laughed nervously. "I think my waters just broke." Silence. Absolute silence. "Oba?" Nothing. You peeked around the bedroom door. He was sitting bolt upright. Blinking. Like his brain had completely stopped working. "You" Another blink. "what?" "My waters. I think they've broken." He stared. For exactly three seconds. Then he disappeared.

Cupboard doors, footsteps, a drawer opening, something falling on the floor. A muffled, "Where are my trousers?" You couldn't help it. You started laughing. A second later he reappeared. Wearing a T-shirt. One trainer. You stared. "Are you wearing pajama bottoms?" He looked down. "Yes." "And one shoe." “Yes." "And no socks." "I panicked." You laughed so hard another wave of warmth was immediately followed by a contraction. It rolled through your back this time, stronger. You instinctively gripped the edge of the doorway. "Oh..." Immediately everything else disappeared from Oba's face. The panic, the confusion, the one missing trainer. He was in front of you before you'd even finished breathing through it. "Talk to me." His voice had become wonderfully calm. "How bad?" "Not" You breathed carefully. "not awful." He waited. Never interrupting. Never rushing you. When it passed you exhaled slowly. "I think that was my first proper contraction." He nodded once, completely composed. "Okay. So..." He gently brushed your hair away from your face. "We're having a baby." The words hung between you, real. Finally real. You smiled. "We're having a baby." Then his eyes became suspiciously shiny, you reached for his hand. "You alright?" He laughed quietly. "I've been waiting" He swallowed. "months to say that." Another contraction interrupted him. Longer this time. He immediately supported your weight as you leaned into him. One hand rubbed slow circles across your lower back. The other stayed firmly around your waist. He didn't speak, didn't overwhelm you with questions. He simply stayed there, steady. Until you relaxed again. "Hospital." He nodded to himself. "We should call the hospital and Lola. And—" He stopped. Looked at you. "What do you need?" The question made your heart ache. Not, what do we do? Not, what's next? Just, what do you need? "You." You answered honestly. He smiled immediately. "You've got me."

While you sat carefully on the edge of the bed he transformed. Not frantic, focused. Hospital bags in the car. Phone charger, wallet, birth notes, water bottle, the tiny knitted cardigan your daughter would come home in. Everything he'd packed weeks ago, ready. Exactly where he'd said it would be. You watched him from the bedroom doorway. "You've thought about this a lot." Without looking up he smiled. "Every day." Ten minutes later the house stood ready. Lights switched off, doors locked, hospital bags loaded. You shuffled carefully towards the front door. Then stopped. "Oba." He looked over immediately. "What?" "I can't bend down." Realisation crossed his face. "Your shoes." You nodded sheepishly. "I feel ridiculous." Before you could protest one of the most physically imposing men in WWE, dropped to one knee in your hallway. He gently lifted one of your feet. Sliding your trainers on with the same care he'd use handling something priceless. Then the other. Double-checking they weren't too tight. Tying the laces neatly. His huge hands looked almost comically gentle. When he stood again he didn't move straight away. Instead he rested both hands against your bump. Took one slow breath. Then smiled. "So" He whispered. "I think today's the day we finally meet you." A firm kick answered him. He laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."

The drive to the hospital was strangely quiet. Not awkward, comfortable. The roads were almost empty. Streetlights slipped across the windscreen in long golden streaks. Every few minutes. another contraction came. Every single time Oba reached across the centre console. His hand finding yours before you even looked for it. Never saying much. Just squeezing gently. Breathing with you. Matching your rhythm. Halfway there he glanced across. "You nervous?" You thought about it. "...A little." He nodded. "So am I." "You are?" "I've never done this before." You smiled. "Neither have I." He chuckled softly. "I suppose we're learning together." A red traffic light stopped the car. The world outside remained completely still. Oba looked over at you. Really looked. Your messy hair, your oversized hoodie, one hand cradling your bump between contractions. The woman he'd loved through morning sickness, hospital appointments, baby showers, countless late-night kicks, and who was now about to become the mother of his daughter. He reached across. Brushing his thumb gently across your cheek. "I love you." His voice was quiet, steady. "So much." Fresh tears filled your eyes. "I love you too." The light turned green. He put the car back into gear. Then smiled to himself. "Next time we drive home" His hand briefly found yours once more. "there'll be three of us." Neither of you said another word. You didn't need to. The hospital lights were already appearing on the horizon. And somewhere beneath your heart your little girl had finally decided she was ready to meet the family who had been waiting for her since before she even existed.

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Labour blurred time, hours stopped meaning anything. The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward. Morning became afternoon, afternoon slipped quietly towards evening. None of it mattered. The only things that existed were your next breath, the next contraction and the hand that had never once let go of yours. Oba hadn't left your side. Not once. Not even to eat. A nurse had eventually walked over carrying a sandwich. "You need something." He'd shaken his head. "I'm alright." "You've been here for twelve hours." "I'm alright." "You'll faint before she does." Only then had he reluctantly taken the sandwich. You'd smiled tiredly from the bed. "You know she's right." "I know." "You still weren't going to." "I know." He'd taken exactly three bites. Then another contraction had started. The sandwich had immediately been abandoned. His entire attention returned to you, always. "Breathe with me." His voice remained low, steady. Just as it had been in the car. Just as it had been at home. "You've got me." His thumb rubbed slow circles across the back of your hand. "In..." You breathed together. "...and out." Another breath. "You've done every single one of these." Another. "You can do this one too." You squeezed his hand so tightly you were certain you'd leave bruises. He never reacted, never complained, never loosened his grip. Instead his other hand found your forehead. Brushing damp strands of hair away from your face. "I'm right here."

The room settled into a rhythm. Midwives moving quietly around you, soft encouragement. Monitors beeping steadily. Somewhere down the corridor another newborn cried. The sound made your heart ache. Soon. Very soon. A contraction finally faded. You slumped back against the pillows. Completely exhausted. "I can't." The words escaped before you could stop them. Your eyes filled immediately. "I can't do it." Oba leaned forward instantly. One hand cupped your face. "You can." You shook your head. "I'm so tired." "I know." "It hurts." "I know." "I just..." Fresh tears spilled over. "...I don't think I can." He rested his forehead against yours. Close enough that you felt every slow breath he took. "Look at me." You did. Not because he demanded it. Because you'd always trusted him. "You know what I've watched for the last nine months?" You frowned slightly. "You." He smiled gently. "I watched you throw up before client meetings. I watched you keep working until you couldn’t anymore. I watched you grow our little girl. I watched you stay kind when you were exhausted. I watched you laugh when your ribs hurt." His thumb stroked gently beneath your eye. "You are the strongest person I have ever known." Another contraction started. He didn't stop talking. "You don't have to be fearless." His hand stayed firmly in yours. "You just have to take one more breath." Another. "One more push." Another. "Then another." His voice cracked slightly. "And I'll be with you for every single one."

The midwife smiled softly. "I think she's nearly ready." Those words changed everything. Oba looked at you. His eyes immediately filled. "Really?" The midwife nodded. "I think you're about to meet your daughter." Time disappeared again. You barely registered the voices around you. Only his, always his. "You've got this. So good. I'm so proud of you. There she is. You're doing it." One hand never left yours. The other supported the back of your shoulders. Grounding you, holding you together. Then everything changed. A tiny cry. High, sharp, beautiful. The room went completely still. You froze. So did Oba. The tiny cry came again, louder this time. Your daughter. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you could. The midwife smiled. "There’s your girl." You watched with blurred vision as they lifted the tiniest little person you'd ever seen. Dark curls already damp against her tiny head. Little fists tightly clenched. Perfect, absolutely perfect. "There she is." The midwife whispered. "Mom" She looked at you warmly. "meet your daughter."

The tiny bundle was placed carefully against your chest. Warm. So impossibly warm. She settled almost immediately. Her cries softened into tiny little snuffles. You stared. Unable to breathe. "Hi..." Your voice barely existed. "Hi, sweetheart." She opened one sleepy eye just for a second. You laughed through your tears. "Oh..." You reached one shaking finger towards her tiny hand. Her fingers curled around yours immediately. So small. So impossibly small. Beside you nothing. No words. No movement. You looked up Oba was crying. Not quietly. Not trying to hide it. Tears streamed freely down his face. He hadn't even noticed. "You okay?" You whispered. He laughed or tried to. It came out somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I" He looked at your daughter. Then at you. "I've never” He swallowed hard. "seen anything so beautiful." The midwife smiled. "Dad..." She nodded towards the baby. "Would you like to say hello?" He stepped closer, slowly. Almost cautiously. Like he was approaching something sacred. His huge hand hovered uncertainly above your daughter's tiny back. "I'm scared." He admitted quietly. The midwife smiled reassuringly. "You won't break her."

Very carefully he stroked one finger down the length of her back. She immediately turned her tiny head, searching. Her little hand lifted, grasping blindly. Without thinking his finger moved closer. She wrapped her whole hand around just one of his fingers. He stopped breathing, completely. His knees almost gave way. "Oh..." His voice cracked so badly the word barely sounded human. "...Hi." Another tear rolled down his cheek. "I'm your daddy." The sentence broke him completely. A quiet sob escaped before he could stop it. "I" He laughed through fresh tears. "I've been waiting so long to say that." Your daughter yawned. A tiny little squeak escaping with it. Still holding his finger. You smiled. "I think she likes you." He looked at you in complete disbelief. "She" He laughed softly. "she's holding my hand." "She is." The midwife looked between the two of you. "Would Dad like to hold her?" Immediately he panicked. "What if I do it wrong?" "You won't." "What if" "You won't." "I've never" "You'll be wonderful." With gentle guidance. your daughter was placed into his arms. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Oba looked down. Then instinctively adjusted his hold. Supporting her head. Tucking her close against his chest. As though his body had always known how. She settled instantly. Tiny cheek resting against his heartbeat. The same heartbeat she'd listened to every evening through your stomach. The same deep voice she'd kicked for. The same giant who had spoken to her every single day before she was born. She recognised him. His eyes overflowed again. "Hey, princess." He whispered. "So..." A watery smile spread across his face. "I finally get to meet you." He looked at her for a long, silent moment. Then back at you. You'd never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at the two of you. Like he'd been searching for something his whole life without ever realising what it was, until now. He crossed the small distance between you. Carefully lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. Your shoulder rested against his. Your daughter's tiny body lay safely between the two of you. Instinctively without either of you thinking your hand found his. His fingers intertwined with yours. Exactly as they always had. Only now there was another tiny hand resting against both of them. Connecting all three of you. Your little girl shifted in her sleep, letting out the softest sigh. Oba smiled down at her before pressing one lingering kiss to the top of her head. Then another to your forehead. His voice was barely above a whisper. "My girls." Two simple words. The same ones he'd been saying for months. But now for the very first time he wasn't imagining them anymore.

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The room had never felt so quiet. Not silent. Never silent. The steady beeping of the monitor still filled the background, nurses walked past the doorway every few minutes. Somewhere further down the corrido another newborn protested being changed. But inside your room everything felt wrapped in cotton. Soft. Warm. Almost sacred. Your daughter had finally fallen asleep. Curled against your chest. One tiny fist tucked beneath her chin. You couldn't stop looking at her. Every few minutes you'd find another tiny detail. The little wrinkle across her nose, the impossibly long eyelashes, the tiny crease in her ear. You wondered if that was what every new parent did. Just look. Oba hadn't moved very far either. He was sitting in the chair beside your bed. Turned sideways. One enormous hand resting gently against the edge of the mattress so his little finger still touched the blanket wrapped around your daughter. Not holding he just connected. "You've been staring at her." You whispered. He smiled without taking his eyes off her. "I know." "You've blinked about twice." "I know." "You should probably blink." "I'll blink later." You laughed quietly. "I don't think that's how eyes work." "They'll manage."

A gentle knock sounded at the door before either of you answered the door opened just enough for a familiar face to peek inside. "Can we come in?" Lola. Standing with Damian just behind her. Both suddenly looking far more nervous than either of them ever had before a title match. You smiled immediately. "Come in." Lola didn't move. Instead she looked at you. Then at the tiny bundle in your arms. Her eyes immediately filled. "Oh" Her voice disappeared completely. "She's here." Damian rested a comforting hand against the small of her back. "You alright?" She nodded far too quickly. "Mhm." She laughed shakily. "I've waited months for this." Oba stood quietly. Crossing the room to hug Damian first. A quick embrace. Then... Without a word he stepped aside. Giving Lola room.

She approached your bed so slowly it was almost funny. Like one sudden movement might somehow make the moment disappear. When she finally reached you she just looked. "Oh my God." She whispered. "Look at her." You carefully pulled the blanket back a little. "There she is." Lola let out the tiniest sob. “She's so little." "I know." "I thought she'd be little. But" Another laugh escaped through her tears. "not this little." Your daughter stretched one tiny arm. Completely asleep. Completely unaware she'd already reduced another grown woman to tears. "You can hold her." You offered gently. Lola's head snapped up. "Really?" "If you'd like to." "I..." She looked at Oba. "You don't mind?" He smiled softly. "She already knows you." Lola frowned. "What?" Oba looked towards your daughter. "You've been talking to her since before she was born. You were there before I could be. When Y/N needed someone" His smile became impossibly gentle. "you were already there." Lola pressed her lips together tightly. Trying very hard not to cry harder. It didn't work.

The midwife helped settle the tiny bundle into Lola's arms. Immediately Lola instinctively tucked her close. Rocking ever so slightly. "Oh..." She whispered. "Hi, beautiful." Your daughter yawned. Then settled again. Completely content. "I can't believe..." Lola laughed through fresh tears. "I used to fit in your mummy's bathroom while she cried over pregnancy tests." You laughed. "I remember telling you not to bring five." "You needed options." "I needed one." "I panicked." Damian smiled from beside the bed. "So" He folded his arms. "Have you two actually decided what we're calling this little superstar?" You looked at Oba. He looked back. For months you'd kept it secret. Even from everyone sitting in this room. Not because you didn't trust them. Because somehow keeping it between the two of you had made it feel like a promise. Now it was time.

Oba walked back over. Resting one hand gently on your shoulder. "You want to tell them?" You nodded. "I do." You looked towards Lola first. "We've known for a while." She smiled. "I figured." "But" You looked down at your sleeping daughter. "every time we tried another name iIt never felt quite right." Oba finished the sentence quietly. "Until one did." You smiled. "We'd like you to meet" You looked down at your little girl with tears already gathering again. "Zuri." Lola smiled immediately. "That's beautiful." Damian nodded. "Zuri." He repeated softly. "It suits her." You reached down. Gently brushing one finger across your daughter's tiny cheek. "Her full name is..." Your voice wobbled. "Zuri Lola Femi." Silence. Complete silence. Lola frowned slightly. "Lola?" You nodded. "Mhm." "I" She looked between you and Oba. "what?" Oba smiled. "You've spent the last nine months making sure our daughter knew she was loved. You've looked after Y/N when I couldn't. You were there the day we found out. You've become family." You reached across the bed. Taking Lola's free hand. "We wanted her to carry a little piece of the woman who made me feel less alone." Lola just stared. "I" Her voice disappeared. "No." She shook her head immediately. "You can't" Fresh tears rolled freely down her cheeks. "You didn't" "We did." You whispered.

Lola broke. Completely. One hand flew to her mouth. A sob escaped before she could stop it. "Oh my God." Damian quietly wrapped an arm around her shoulders from behind. He looked emotional himself. "That's" He smiled shakily. "that's one hell of an honour." "I don't deserve that." Lola whispered. "You do." You answered immediately. "I was terrified. You sat on my bathroom floor. You held my hand. You convinced me I could do this. You already loved her before anyone else had even met her." Lola looked down at the tiny baby sleeping peacefully against her chest. "Hi, Zuri." She whispered through tears. "My name's your middle name." A watery laugh escaped her. "I still can't believe that's real." She kissed two fingers before gently pressing them against Amara's tiny blanket. "I promise" Her voice steadied. "'m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you know exactly how loved you are." Across the room Oba looked at you. Then at Lola. Then at your daughter. His heart felt impossibly full. He'd spent months watching this little family grow. Not just the one the three of you had created. But the one you'd chosen. The one built from late-night phone calls, airport pickups, shared meals, inside jokes, and people who had shown up over and over again. Watching Lola cradle Zuri with tears streaming down her face he realised something. His daughter wasn't just going to grow up knowing what unconditional love looked like. She was going to be surrounded by it. From the very first day of her life.

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Home. The word felt entirely different now. Not because the house had changed. The cream walls were still cream. The porch swing still creaked in the breeze. The flowerpots you'd forgotten to water before rushing to the hospital still looked slightly neglected. Everything was exactly as you'd left it. And somehow nothing was the same. Oba parked the car but made no move to get out. Neither did you. For a long moment the two of you simply sat there. The back seat held the smallest passenger either of you had ever travelled with. Fast asleep. Completely unaware that she was about to see home for the very first time. "You know..." You murmured softly. "We left here as two people." Oba looked over. Then into the rear-view mirror. A smile spread slowly across his face. "We're coming back as three." Neither of you moved for another few seconds. Just looking. As if opening the car doors would somehow make everything suddenly real.

Eventually Oba climbed out. He walked around to your side first. Not the baby's. Yours. He opened your door before offering you his hand. "You alright?" You smiled. "I am." He helped you out carefully. Never rushing. Never assuming. Just there if you wanted him. Like always. Only then did he move to the back seat. The enormous man who could throw opponents across a wrestling ring suddenly became impossibly delicate. He unclipped the car seat, checked the handle, checked the blanket, checked the straps, then checked them all again. "You've already checked." You teased gently. "I know." "You checked at the hospital." "I know." "You checked before we left." "I know." "You checked at the traffic lights." "I know." He looked at you completely seriously. "One more won't hurt." You laughed quietly. "No. It won't." Zuri slept through the entire conversation. One tiny fist poking out from beneath her blanket. Oba instinctively tucked it back underneath. Carefully shielding her from the breeze before lifting the carrier. Like she weighed nothing. Like she weighed everything. The front door opened. The familiar scent of home greeted you instantly. Fresh washing, vanilla candles, coffee lingering from the morning you'd left for the hospital. You stopped in the hallway. Your eyes unexpectedly filled. "We're home." You whispered. Oba stood beside you. One hand resting lightly between your shoulder blades. The baby carrier in his other hand. He looked around the house before smiling to himself. "So is she."

The nursery was exactly as you'd left it. Tiny clothes folded neatly into drawers, the mobile hanging peacefully above the cot, the rocking chair tucked beside the window. Sunlight poured through the curtains, warm, gentle, waiting. Oba carefully lifted Zuri from her car seat. His movements had already become more confident. Not because he was less careful but because he was learning her. The way she liked one hand tucked beneath her, the way she settled when she was held close to his chest, the way she made tiny little sighs before she woke up. He knew her already. As soon as she was against him she relaxed. Her cheek settled against his heartbeat. Exactly like she had in the hospital. Exactly like she always seemed to. "I think" You whispered from the doorway. "you're her favourite." He looked offended. "Impossible." "I'm serious." "She loves her mom." "I know she does." "But every time she's on you" You smiled. "she melts." As if proving your point Zuri let out one sleepy little noise. Then burrowed impossibly closer beneath his chin. Oba looked down. Then back at you. "I" He smiled helplessly. "I don't know what to do with that." "You cuddle her." "I was already doing that." "You keep doing it." "I can manage that."

A yawn escaped you before you could stop it. Your whole body suddenly felt impossibly heavy. The adrenaline that had carried you through the last few days had finally disappeared. Oba noticed instantly. "Bed." You blinked. "What?" "You need sleep." "I've only just got home." "You need sleep." "I should unpack." "I'll unpack." "I should feed-" "You'll feed her in a bit." "I should-" "You." He smiled gently. "need sleep."

Twenty minutes later you woke with a start. For one terrifying second you couldn't remember where you were. Then the nursery. The soft afternoon light. The rocking chair and voices. You followed them quietly. Stopping just outside the living room. The sight inside rooted you to the spot. Oba was stretched across the sofa. Still in the same clothes he'd worn home from the hospital. One arm tucked behind his head. The other securely around the tiniest little bundle sleeping on his chest. Zuri was lying exactly over his heart. One tiny hand splayed against his T-shirt. Her little mouth slightly open, completely asleep. He hadn't noticed you. He was talking so quietly you almost couldn't hear him. "and Uncle Trick is going to teach you terrible jokes." A tiny smile crossed his face. "But your mom says we have to pretend they're funny." Another pause. "Auntie Lash is going to spoil you. Uncle Damian will teach you to stay calm. Auntie Kelani's going to make sure you always believe in yourself." He looked down at the tiny face tucked beneath his chin. "And" His smile softened impossibly. "Auntie Lola." He chuckled quietly. "You've already got her wrapped around your little finger." Zuri made a sleepy little grumble, without even thinking Oba began gently rubbing slow circles across her tiny back. The exact same circles he'd spent nine months rubbing into yours. The exact same rhythm he'd used whenever you were anxious. Steady. Patient. Familiar. She settled instantly. You felt tears sting your eyes. Not because he was doing anything extraordinary. Because he wasn't. He was simply loving. The same way he always had. With his hands.

You stepped into the room quietly. The floorboard creaked. Oba looked up. His face immediately lit up. "Hey." "Hey." "You should still be asleep." "I wanted to find my family." He smiled. "We're here." You crossed the room. Instead of sitting beside him you carefully lowered yourself onto the sofa until your back rested against his side. Your head found its familiar place against his shoulder. Without a word his free arm immediately wrapped around you. For a while none of you moved. Zuri slept peacefully between the two of you. Tiny breaths rising and falling against Oba's chest. His heartbeat steady beneath her ear. Your fingers found his automatically. Intertwining with his, the way they always had. "You know" You murmured sleepily. "What?" "You spent nine months trying to get as close to me as physically possible." "I did." "You've got competition now." He looked down at his daughter. Then back at you. "I don't." "You don't?" He smiled. "No."

Very gently he guided your intertwined hands towards Zuri. Your joined fingers rested beside her tiny one. Almost immediately without opening her eyes her tiny fingers wrapped around one of yours and one of his at the same time. So impossibly small. Yet somehow holding both of you together. Neither of you spoke. You couldn't. The moment was too fragile. Too perfect. Oba watched her for a long time before quietly laughing to himself. "What?" You whispered. "I've just realised something." "What?" "I spent months trying to stay as close to you as I possibly could." He looked down at your daughter. "Turns out she inherited it." You smiled. "She did." Another contented hum vibrated quietly beneath your cheek. The same one you'd discovered months ago. The one he insisted he didn't make. You smiled against his shoulder. "There it is." He looked down innocently. "What?" "The humming." "I still don't hum." "You've got two girls who disagree." He looked at the tiny baby asleep on his chest. Then back at you. "I suppose I'm outnumbered." "You've been outnumbered since she learned to kick." He laughed softly. "I have."

Outside the afternoon slowly melted into evening. Sunlight shifted across the wooden floor. The world carried on turning, people drove past the house, neighbours walked their dogs, life continued. But inside time seemed perfectly content to stand still. Because this, your head on his shoulder, his arm around your waist, Zuri sleeping safely between the two of you, her tiny hand refusing to let go of either of yours, was everything your life had been leading towards. Not grand declarations. Not championships. Not dramatic moments. Just love made tangible. Felt in the squeeze of a hand, a forehead kiss, a head resting in a lap, a giant who had always reached for the people he loved. And now, a little girl who reached right back. For both of you. At the same time. Home had never really been a place, it had always been this. The feeling of never having to reach very far because the people who loved you were already close enough to hold.

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