After the almost end of the world - Part 7 / Steve Harrington
Pair: ex!Steve Harrington x reader
Chapter warnings: angst, no use of y/n, intense parental conflict, implied past trauma, emotional manipulation, shouting, grief, anger, panic, strong emotional reactions, mild child endangerment anxiety
Chapter summary: Steve confronts you about what he found, and a few days later, Ellie’s school calls—leading to a tense discussion with her teacher about things Ellie has said.
Story Masterlist
previuous part & next part
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“When were you planning on telling me?” His voice is tight, trembling, nothing like the Steve you know.
“Let me explain—”
He cuts you off, stepping closer. His eyes are glossy, red around the edges. “So this is it,” he snaps. “This is why you’ve been so calm. So fucking okay.”
Your heart starts pounding. “Steve, please—”
“You’re pregnant!" he says, like the word itself tastes bitter. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know?”
“That’s not—”
“You already have two kids,” he continues, voice rising. “Do you have any idea how irresponsible that is?” The word hits you like a slap. “Inconsiderate,” he goes on, pacing now. “Selfish. You can’t just— just have another baby with someone else.”
Zara stirs slightly in your arms. You tighten your hold, tears burning your eyes. “Steve,” you whisper. “Stop.”
He doesn’t. “Do you know what it does to me,” he says, voice breaking, “to think of you pregnant again and it’s not mine?”
Silence crashes down.
That’s when you understand. This isn’t anger, it's grief.
“I lost you,” he chokes out. “And now this? This makes it final. This makes it real.”
You stand slowly, careful not to wake Zara. “Steve,” you say softly, dangerously calm. “I’m not pregnant.”
He freezes. “What?”
“They’re not mine,” you say, tears spilling now. “They’re Max’s.”
His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale. “What?”
“She asked me to keep them here,” you continue, voice trembling. “She didn’t want Lucas to find out. She wanted to tell him after the wedding.”
Steve stares at you, stunned. The fight drains out of him all at once, leaving only devastation and shame.
“Oh..." he whispers.
You swallow hard. “You didn’t even let me speak!"
He looks at Zara, at you and then at the test in his hand.
“I—” His voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”
You shake your head, tears sliding down your cheeks. “You don’t get to speak to me like that.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “I know. I'm sorry. I don't know what... I just— I thought—”
“That I’d moved on completely?” you finish. “That I’d replaced you?”
His shoulders slump. “I— I don’t think I know how to survive the idea of you loving someone else like that.” he admits quietly.
Your heart aches, but you’re so tired. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t do with my life… that’s what you said to me, you remember?” you say gently. “Even if it hurts.”
He nods, tears finally falling. “I— I’m… sorry,” he says hoarsely. “I’m really sorry. I had no right.”
You don’t respond.
Not because you’re cruel or you don’t care. But because if you open your mouth, something fragile will break open again and you don’t have the strength to gather the pieces one more time.
Steve stands there for a few seconds longer, the apology hanging uselessly between you. Then he looks at Zara sleeping against your shoulder, at the curve of her cheek, and something in his face hardens, with understanding.
He leaves quietly.
That night, he goes to Tammy’s. For the first time since he met her again, he doesn’t feel comforted by her presence.
She’s talking—about work, about something funny that happened at the grocery store—but Steve can’t focus. His chest still feels raw, scraped open. The image of you holding Zara, eyes wet but steady, keeps replaying in his mind.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he says suddenly.
Tammy stops mid-sentence. “Do what?”
“This,” he gestures vaguely between them. “Us.”
She studies him for a long moment. She looks tired. Not angry. Just… resigned. “It’s her.” she says quietly.
Steve doesn’t deny it. That’s the answer.
“I thought I could handle it,” Tammy continues. “But maybe I can’t compete with a history, or a family.”
“You shouldn’t have to." Steve replies.
They don’t fight, scream. They just… stop. When Steve walks out, he doesn’t feel relieved, he feels emptied.
The next afternoon, he finds Dustin at the arcade, slouched over a machine that’s clearly eating his quarters.
“You look like shit.” Dustin says, not unkindly.
“Thanks.” Steve mutters, dropping into the seat beside him.
They don’t talk at first. Dustin lets the silence stretch. He’s learned that sometimes Steve needs that.
“I messed up." Steve finally says.
Dustin glances at him. “New mess-up or recurring?”
Steve huffs a weak laugh. “Recurring.”
Dustin waits.
“I thought moving on would make it hurt less,” Steve admits. “But it just… made everything louder.”
Dustin swallows, eyes fixed on the screen. “You still love her.”
“Mh.." Steve whispers. “I don't know man, in a way... i told you... I always will.”
Dustin turns then, really looks at him. “That doesn’t mean you get to hold on.”
Steve’s breath shudders.
“She’s building something new,” Dustin continues gently. “And every time you pull her back—every look, every fight—you make it harder for her and for you.”
Steve’s eyes fill again. “Maybe I don’t know how to let go.” he says, voice breaking. “She was my whole life.”
Dustin steps forward and pulls him into a hug before Steve can stop himself. Steve collapses into it. He cries like he hasn’t in years. Loud, ugly, desperate. The kind of crying that leaves you hollow afterward.
“She deserves peace,” Dustin murmurs. “And so do you.”
Steve nods against his shoulder.
“This time,” Dustin adds softly, “you have to mean it.”
You’re at home when the school calls on Thursday.
“Mrs. Harrington?” the secretary says gently.
Your throat is already dry. Your mind immediately starts racing to the worst-case scenarios. They’ve never called you from the school before… what if something happened to her? “Is Ellie okay?”
There’s a pause — the kind that’s too careful. “She’s safe. But… she said something in class that concerned her teacher.”
Your fingers curl around the edge of the desk. “What did she say?”
There’s a small pause on the other end of the line. Then the secretary replies gently, “I’m sorry, I actually don’t know. Her teacher asked me to call you in. She didn’t give details.”
Your stomach tightens. “She didn’t tell you anything?”
“I’m afraid not. She just said it would be best if you came in.”
Best if you came in. That’s never good. You swallow. “Is she hurt?”
“No, no!” the secretary reassures quickly. “She’s safe. She’s in the classroom.”
That should calm you. It doesn’t. Now you’re really fucking worried. “If the teacher asked me to call you,” you say carefully, “it must be something serious.”
“I can’t speak to that. But I do think it’s important.”
Important.
That word sits heavy in your chest. “I’m on my way.”
The drive to the school feels longer than usual. Every red light is unbearable. Your mind won’t stop racing. What could she have said? What if she swore?
God. You told Mike to keep his damn mouth shut — What if she repeated something worse? What if she said something about you and Steve? What if—
You stop the thought before it finishes forming. When you walk into the front office, you freeze, because Steve is already there.
He’s standing near the window, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His foot is tapping against the floor — nervous, restless. When he sees you, confusion flashes across his face. “They called you too?” he asks.
You nod slowly. “They didn’t tell me why.”
“Me neither.”
Something shifts in his expression. That’s concern, real concern.
A classroom door opens down the hallway. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington?” Ellie’s teacher calls gently. The title hits you both. Neither of you corrects it.
You walk down the hall side by side, but not touching. Ellie is sitting at her desk, small and still. The teacher closes the door behind you.
“I didn’t want to alarm you over the phone,” she begins carefully. “But Ellie shared something during class today that concerned me.” Your heart starts pounding. “She was drawing a picture of her family.” the teacher continues, holding up a crayon drawing.
Four stick figures.
One smaller one off to the side.
“And when another student asked who the extra baby was, Ellie said…” She hesitates.
Steve’s jaw tightens.
“She said her mommy is having a new baby because her and her sister aren’t enough.”
The air leaves your lungs.
Steve goes completely still beside you.
The teacher continues gently. “She also said she heard her father yelling about it. And that he sounded very angry.”
Steve inhales sharply.
“And when I asked how she felt about that,” the teacher adds, her voice softening, “Ellie said maybe it’s her fault you don’t live together anymore."
Silence crashes into the room. You feel it physically — like something pressing against your ribs.
Steve’s hand comes up to his mouth. He doesn’t speak. For a moment, neither do you.
The teacher’s tone shifts, practical but kind. “Children sometimes internalize adult conflict in ways we don’t expect. I thought it was important we address it together.”
Together.
You nod, even though your vision is blurring.
You failed. You really, truly failed.
All this time you thought you were protecting her. Thought you were doing it right. Shielding her from the tension. Making sure she understood that Mommy and Daddy loving her had nothing to do with whether they lived in the same house.
You were so careful. And you still messed it up.
No — you both did.
She heard everything that night. Steve accusing you, his voice sharp, breaking, the word pregnant thrown like something ugly between you.
The blame.
The anger.
What did she think while she was lying in bed? Did she feel replaced? Did she feel scared? Did she think you were building a new life without her in it?
Why didn’t she say anything?
She seemed fine the next morning. She ate her cereal. She laughed at Zara spilling milk. She asked where her purple sweater was.
She was calm.
Wasn’t she?
Or did you just not look closely enough?
Your mind starts spiraling.
You’ve been so consumed with everything else — Jake, the wedding planning, the tension with Steve, the constant emotional whiplash of trying to move forward while being pulled back — that you didn’t even notice your own daughter quietly carrying something this heavy.
How did you not see it? How did you not hear it in her voice? In the way she clung a little longer at bedtime? In the way she asked if you’d pick her up instead of Dad this week?
God.
What kind of mother misses that?
You stand there in a classroom full of tiny desks and construction paper, and the guilt crawls up your spine.
Worst mother in the world. That’s what you are.
And the worst part? You thought you were doing your best.
“Can we talk to her?” you manage.
“Of course.” Ellie looks up when you approach her desk. Her eyes move from you to Steve.
She looks… scared. Why does she look scared?
Suddenly the argument, the jealousy, the anger — none of it matters. Only this does.
Her fingers are twisted in the hem of her sweater. She keeps looking from you to Steve like she’s trying to read something neither of you are saying out loud.
“Hey, bug." Steve says softly. His voice is careful and fragile.
You brush a strand of hair behind Ellie’s ear. “Your teacher told us what you said.”
Her shoulders tense immediately. “I’m not in trouble, right?”
“No,” you say quickly. “You’re not in trouble.”
Steve shakes his head. “Not even a little.”
A gentle tap at the classroom door makes both of you glance up. The teacher’s face is unreadable, but her eyes hold a quiet urgency. “I think it would be better if we talked out here for a minute,” she says softly.
Before you can ask, she gently takes Ellie’s hand and leads her toward the door. You and Steve follow, hearts pounding.
The hallway feels suddenly too loud — the lockers clanging, distant voices echoing — and yet nothing outside seems real compared to the tight knot in your chest.
Once in the empty hall, you kneel in front of Ellie again, letting her go fully into your arms. She buries her face against your shoulder.
“You were worried,” you whisper, stroking her hair. “About something you heard?”
Ellie studies your faces again. “Are you having a baby?” she asks you.
The question lands softer this time. Not dramatic, just scared.
You reach for her hands. “No, sweetheart. I’m not.”
She frowns slightly. “But Daddy said you were.”
Steve inhales beside you. “I thought she was,” he says gently. “And I shouldn’t have yelled. That was my mistake.”
Ellie nods slowly, processing.
“But… you used to say we might have more babies one day,” she says, looking at Steve now. “You said maybe we’d have another brother. Or another sister.”
Steve’s face changes, just slightly. His mouth opens, then closes, as if he’s trying to form words that won’t come.
He had always loved saying it over and over, back when Zara was tiny, barely a few months old. He dreamed of a big family, had always dreamed of it. Never in a million years would he have imagined that you two would stop at just two children.
When he and Ellie looked after Zara while you were at work, he’d often talk about the day they might have more siblings—if you wanted, of course. His voice would light up with hope, eyes soft and bright, like he could see a whole future stretched out in front of him.
And you… you had never hidden your own wishes about expanding the family.
Now, standing in the school hallway, hearing Ellie repeat these memories like a small, innocent echo, you feel it—a cold, sharp weight sliding into your stomach.
It twists tight, tight enough to take your breath away. Fear, guilt, grief, all bundled together, swirling in your chest.
You glance at Steve. He’s frozen, rigid, a storm behind his eyes that he’s trying—futilely—to hide. His hands twitch at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if trying to grab onto something solid.
You feel something cold slide into your stomach.
Ellie continues, innocent and matter-of-fact. “You said maybe we’d have six little nuggets.”
The words hit you like a memory you didn’t ask for.
Six little nuggets.
Ellie keeps talking. “And when we went shopping last week, it was really fun. We bought clothes for Aunt Max’s wedding and Daddy kept putting dresses in the cart and you told him to stop.” She smiles faintly. “And Daddy ate your fries. Like he used to.”
Your head turns slowly toward Steve. His jaw tightens.
“And his eyes were happy again,” Ellie adds quietly. “Like before.”
The air feels thinner.
Ellie’s voice gets softer. “And the other night… Daddy kissed your forehead.”
Your heart stutters. Steve goes completely still.
“He put the blanket on your shoulders,” she continues. “Like he used to. And then he said it.”
You stare at her.
You don’t understand. You don’t remember that.
You remember being tired. It was Friday. After the girls fell asleep, you’d sat on the couch like you always did. You must have dozed off during the movie.
“What do you mean, baby?” you ask carefully.
Ellie shrugs, like it’s obvious. “After he put the blanket! He told you he loved you. Daddy said that he’s in love with you.’”
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