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The First Hunch
Intuition seemed to follow Harry around the house like a ghostly shadow.
The irregular morning sickness could have been entirely coincidental. Still, the moment you lost the hopeless battle of keeping your eyes open and eventually drifted off beside him was the indisputable sign he had been seeking. You, the person he knew like the back of his hand, were succumbing to a nap before dinner. The notably rare occurrence was a spectacle to behold, and he didn't move a single muscle except for his heart that wildly thumped in his chest at the mere thought of it being true.
You had to be pregnant. No other conclusion could be drawn.
When you awoke an hour later in an evening daze with mellow light from the sunset casting a silhouette of the open shutters on your face, Harry found it amusing how disoriented your expression was. It was almost as if you were astonished at how your body managed to do a simple human function, such as letting yourself fall asleep. He gazed down at you and raised his eyebrows with an unspoken assumption of what you had been so futilely denying to him and yourself.
"Don't say anything," you said through a yawn before he could make a witty comment.
Harry kissed your forehead and knowingly smiled against it. "Just take a test, love. There's no use in putting it off any longer."
"I'm scared," you mumbled.
"Why?" he asked softly, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. You rubbed your tired eyes while sinking into his embrace. "We've talked about how much we want this."
"It's still scary."
Harry swallowed thickly. Hell, he was scared too. Priorities shift tectonically once a baby is born and brought home to be raised for eighteen years. How did a person even go about preparing for that enormous of a responsibility? It was always nice to fantasize about until the harsh realities of parenthood caused him to spiral mentally.
"Well," he said with a loving pinch to your cheek, "I think it's a girl."
You grinned into the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Have you been reading up on things already?"
"Maybe," he mused. Setting his feet on the ottoman, he continued, "Look at me for a second." You did, and he absentmindedly stroked his thumb across your stomach. "Tell me that you don't think you're pregnant."
A wary pause ensued. Your unintentional signals were as clear as day.
"I think I am," you whispered.
"For real?"
"Harry, you're the one who's so confident I am."
"I know, but... do you actually feel like there's a baby?" His palms turned clammy when he said it out loud. "It's your body. I'm just guessing based on mum blogs I read online."
