The living room had transformed into something between a clinic and a war zone.
Nilay stood in the center of it, fully in control, arranging the pregnancy tests on the table with alarming precision. Three boxes. Different brands. Different instructions. She read each one like she was preparing for a medical exam, her brows slightly furrowed, her focus absolute.
"We are not making mistakes," she said firmly, not looking up. "Each one has a different sensitivity level. We will follow the instructions exactly. No improvisation."
Selin sat on the edge of the couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her body still tense despite everything. Alekos sat beside her, closer than before, his presence steady and intentional. His hand found hers without hesitation, fingers intertwining as if that alone could keep her grounded.
"I think one test is enough," Alekos muttered under his breath.
Nilay didn't even look at him. "You think wrong."
Selin let out a small, nervous breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
The tension in the room was quiet, but overwhelming.
Selin stood up slowly this time, more careful than before, aware of every movement. Alekos immediately stood with her, not letting go of her hand.
"I can go alone," she said softly.
"No," he replied just as quickly. "I'm coming with you."
Nilay looked up at that, considering it for a second, then gave a short nod. "Fine. But don't distract her."
"I'm not the problem," Alekos said.
Nilay raised an eyebrow. "You usually are."
Selin almost smiled.
The bathroom door closed behind them, leaving Nilay alone in the living room.
For the first time—
she looked nervous.
Selin stood in front of the sink, staring at the test in her hand.
It felt heavier than it should have.
Alekos stood behind her, not touching at first, giving her space. But when her hand trembled slightly, he stepped closer, his presence immediately steadying her.
"You don't have to rush," he said quietly.
She nodded.
"I know."
But she still moved.
Because waiting felt worse.
A few minutes later, the test sat on the counter.
And neither of them looked.
Selin stepped back immediately, like distance would protect her from whatever it said. Her breathing picked up, her chest rising too fast, her thoughts spiraling before she could stop them.
"I can't," she whispered. "I can't look."
Alekos stepped forward this time, gently taking her hand again.
"I've got you," he said.
Her grip tightened instantly.
"Don't let go," she said, her voice barely holding together.
"I won't."
The bathroom door opened.
Nilay turned immediately.
Her eyes moved from Alekos—
to Selin—
to the test in his hand.
And just like that, the room fell silent again.
Not chaotic.
Not loud.
Just… waiting.
Selin didn't sit.
She didn't move.
She just stood there, her hand still locked with Alekos's, her entire body braced for something she wasn't sure she could handle.
Nilay stepped closer, slower this time, her usual authority softened by something else—something more careful.
"Well?" she asked quietly.
Selin shook her head. "We didn't check."
Nilay blinked once.
Then twice.
Then took a deep breath.
"Give it to me."
Alekos hesitated.
Then handed it over.
Nilay looked at the test.
And for the first time since she had walked in—
she didn't speak immediately.
Her expression shifted.
Just slightly.
But enough.
Alekos noticed first.
His grip on Selin's hand tightened.
"…What does it say?" he asked, his voice low.
Selin didn't say anything.
She couldn't.
Nilay looked up.
Her eyes moved between them.
Then softened.
Just a little.
"There's a line."
Silence.
Complete.
Unreal.
Selin blinked.
Once.
Like her brain refused to process it.
"…What?"
Nilay held the test up slightly, her voice steadier now.
"There's a line," she repeated. "A faint one—but it's there."
Selin's breath caught.
Her knees nearly gave out.
Alekos reacted instantly, his arm moving around her before she could fall, holding her against him.
"Hey—hey," he whispered, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.
She wasn't crying yet.
She wasn't smiling either.
She just… looked at the test.
Like it might disappear if she blinked too hard.
"Is that… real?" she asked quietly.
Nilay nodded slowly.
"It could be early," she said. "Which is why it's faint. But it's there."
Alekos didn't look at the test again.
He looked at Selin.
Only Selin.
His hand came up to her face, gently, like he had done before—but this time, there was no hesitation in it.
"Sel," he whispered.
Her eyes finally moved to him.
And that's when it hit her.
Her expression broke.
Not into fear.
Not into panic.
But something deeper.
Something fragile.
Something real.
"I think…" she whispered, her voice trembling now, "I think I might be pregnant."
And for the first time—
none of them had anything else to say.
The faint line on the test didn't bring immediate celebration.
It brought urgency.
Selin had barely processed what she was looking at when Alekos stood up, his entire demeanor shifting from quiet disbelief to controlled action. There was no hesitation in him anymore, no room for uncertainty.
"We're going to the hospital," he said firmly, already reaching for his keys.
Selin looked up at him, still sitting, still holding the edge of the couch like it was the only stable thing in the room. "It might just be early," she said, her voice quieter, cautious, as if she was trying to protect both of them from false hope.
"We're not guessing," he replied immediately. "Not with this."
It wasn't anger.
It was fear, dressed as certainty.
Nilay, who had been hovering nearby with the tests still laid out like evidence, didn't argue for once. Her silence spoke louder than anything she could have said. Within minutes, she had gathered her things again, already mentally preparing for the next step.
Alekos moved toward Selin and helped her up carefully, his hands steady but lingering, as if he didn't trust gravity itself around her anymore. He supported her all the way to the car, watching every step she took, his attention fixed entirely on her.
The car ride to the hospital was quiet in a way that none of them had experienced before.
Selin sat in the passenger seat, her hands resting in her lap, her fingers occasionally tightening without her realizing it. Her mind moved rapidly, cycling through everything she knew about her condition, everything the doctors had warned her about, and everything she had chosen to risk.
Hope sat beside fear, neither one stronger than the other.
Alekos drove with both hands gripping the wheel tightly, his posture rigid. His focus was on the road, but his thoughts were far from it. He wasn't thinking about traffic or directions. He was thinking about outcomes—about what it meant if the test was right, and what it would cost them if it was.
He didn't speak.
Because if he did, he wasn't sure he could keep his voice steady.
In the backseat, Nilay watched both of them. Normally, she would have filled the silence, asked questions, controlled the situation with her voice alone. But this time, she didn't. She understood that this wasn't a moment for control—it was a moment for restraint.
The only sound in the car was the engine and Selin's quiet breathing.
When they arrived at the hospital, everything moved quickly.
Vanessa, who had been Selin's oncologist for months, immediately understood the seriousness of the situation the moment she saw all three of them walk in together. There was no casual greeting, no delay.
"What happened?" she asked, her tone direct but not cold.
"Positive test," Alekos answered before Selin could speak.
"Faint," Selin added, grounding the statement in reality.
Vanessa nodded, already shifting into professional mode. "We'll confirm with a blood test. It's more accurate, especially this early."
Selin was guided through the process with efficiency. The procedure itself was simple, routine even—but the context made it feel anything but ordinary. Alekos stayed with her the entire time, refusing to let go of her hand, even when she told him he didn't need to stay that close.
"I do," he replied quietly, without looking away from her.
Nilay stood nearby, arms crossed, her usual confidence replaced with controlled stillness. She watched everything carefully, listening to every word, storing every detail.
The waiting period felt longer than it actually was.
Selin sat in the chair, her back straight, her expression calm on the surface, but her body gave her away. Her leg moved slightly, her fingers occasionally tightening around Alekos's hand, grounding herself in something real.
Alekos didn't sit.
He stood beside her, his presence constant, like he believed that if he stepped away, even for a moment, something would go wrong.
Nilay remained near the window, watching the hallway, her thoughts clearly racing even if her face didn't show it.
When Vanessa returned, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
She didn't sit down.
She didn't soften it.
She simply said, "You're pregnant."
The words landed heavily.
Not loudly.
But permanently.
Selin blinked slowly, as if her mind needed time to process what her ears had just heard. "Positive?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable.
Vanessa nodded. "Yes. The test confirms it."
Alekos's grip on Selin's hand tightened instinctively, almost too much, but she didn't pull away. She needed that contact, needed something to hold onto while everything around her changed.
But Vanessa didn't stop there.
Her tone shifted, becoming more serious, more deliberate.
"We need to talk about what this means for your condition," she said.
Selin nodded slowly.
She already knew.
But hearing it made it real in a way nothing else had.
"This pregnancy will place significant stress on your body," Vanessa explained. "Without ongoing treatment, your cancer may progress more rapidly. This is a high-risk situation—for you."
The emphasis was clear.
Not the baby.
Her.
Alekos finally spoke, his voice lower, more controlled than before.
"What are her chances?"
Vanessa hesitated.
And that hesitation—
that brief pause—
said more than any number she could have given.
Alekos didn't stay in the room much longer.
He leaned down, pressing a brief, careful kiss to Selin's forehead, his hand lingering there for a second before he stepped away.
"I'll be right back," he said quietly.
She nodded.
She understood.
The hospital garden offered space.
Air.
Silence.
But none of it helped.
Alekos walked until he reached an empty bench, his steps slowing as the reality finally caught up to him.
"She's pregnant," he said under his breath, the words still unfamiliar.
"And she could die."
This time, there was no one to hear it.
No one to soften it.
He ran his hands through his hair, pacing once before stopping again, his chest tight, his breathing uneven.
"What am I supposed to do?" he asked aloud, his voice breaking slightly. "Be happy? Be scared? Stop her? Support her?"
There was no answer.
No right direction.
Only consequences.
"You don't have to decide everything right now."
The voice came from behind him.
Calm.
Measured.
Alekos turned.
His father stood there.
Alton.
"I saw you leave," Alton said, approaching slowly. "I figured you wouldn't want to stay in there."
Alekos let out a breath that felt heavier than anything else.
"I don't even know what I'm feeling," he admitted.
"That's normal," Alton replied.
Alekos shook his head. "Nothing about this is normal."
He looked away, then added, quieter this time, "She's pregnant. And it could kill her."
Alton didn't interrupt.
He didn't try to fix it.
He just listened.
"I don't know what to do," Alekos continued. "If I support this, I'm risking her. If I don't… I take away the one thing she wants."
His hands clenched.
"I can't win."
Alton exhaled slowly and sat beside him.
"You think fatherhood is about winning?" he asked.
Alekos didn't respond.
"When you were born," Alton began, his voice quieter now, "I thought I had everything figured out."
He paused.
"I didn't."
Alekos glanced at him.
"I made mistakes," Alton continued. "A lot of them. And I regret more than I can say—especially how I treated you."
The words sat heavily between them.
But neither of them avoided it.
"I thought being a father meant being in control all the time," Alton said. "Being strong. Not showing weakness."
He shook his head.
"It doesn't."
"Then what is it?" Alekos asked.
"It's learning," Alton answered. "Every day. Even when you're scared. Even when you don't know what you're doing."
He looked at Alekos.
"You show up. You stay. You try."
Alekos swallowed.
Because that—
that he could do.
"You love her?" Alton asked.
"Yes," Alekos answered immediately.
"Then start there."
The simplicity of it hit harder than anything else.
No solution.
No certainty.
Just… direction.
Alekos nodded slowly.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Alton didn't respond with words.
He just pulled him into a hug.
Firm.
Grounding.
Real.
And this time—
Alekos didn't hold back.
For the first time since everything started—
he felt like he wasn't alone in it.