The state I'm in COMPLETED

Second thoughts

Harry left without knowing what had happened outside the clinic, and I had no intention of telling him. He went back to work, taking extra shifts and working overtime, while I returned to my usual routine—uni, shifts at the club, and waiting for the stolen moments we could share. He came every other day for a few hours and spent weekends with me.

Thankfully, he no longer had to rely on his bike. His dad had bought him a car, too worried about the long drives back and forth. That was the "business" George had to take care of the other day—he had not only purchased the car but also had a car seat installed for Antony. His reasoning? Harry wouldn't know how to pick a reliable family car. But deep down, I knew George didn't want Harry spending money on it either.

I liked George. He wasn't a man of many words, but he spoke volumes through his actions. He loved his son, and he was doing everything in his power to support him.

Harry, on the other hand, was falling more and more in love with his son every day, and it was the sweetest thing to watch. He'd come back from visiting Nadia's house, gushing over every little thing Antony did—how he held his tiny fingers, how he moved in his sleep, how he barely fit into Harry's palm.

Rose, of course, had other thoughts.

"You do realize all babies are the same, right? They eat, cry, shit, and sleep. No miracles there."

"Shut up, Rose." Harry would chuckle. "What the fuck would you know about babies?"

But something did surprise him. At Nadia's house, there was no drama. No insults, no cold shoulders. They were nice to him. Too nice.

He was hesitant at first, but soon enough, he admitted that Nadia was treating him differently. She didn't rush him out when visiting hours were up, didn't hesitate when he asked to hold Antony. She even asked him to name the baby. That left him completely stunned.

He wasn't used to them giving him choices—only demands.

Harry's voice was low and teasing as we cuddled under a blanket, two half-finished mugs of tea on the coffee table.

I chuckled. "I don't think Nadia would appreciate hearing your name all day."

He groaned dramatically. "Point well made. What about George, like my dad?"

I smiled. "That would make him so happy... but you know her family wouldn't love that idea. Maybe pick something neutral, something that doesn't connect to either family?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "You're right again. Besides, I'm saving George for someone else."

I turned my head to look at him. "Who?"

That signature smirk spread across his face, dimples deepening. "Our son."

Our son.

The words sent a jolt through me, but I forced myself to roll my eyes playfully. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm nineteen."

His smirk faded slightly, like I had just punctured a dream he hadn't realized he was holding on to.

"I don't mean now," he murmured, pulling me tighter against him, resting his chin on my shoulder. "But someday."

I didn't respond. Instead, I traced patterns on his forearm, letting silence settle between us.

Then, as if he knew I needed a shift in the conversation, he spoke again.

"What do you think about Antony?"