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You tried, you really did, but no matter what angle you twisted at, those stupid buttons just wouldn’t clasp anymore. You sucked in another breath, hoping—praying, even—that it would magically create enough space. It didn’t. The denim dug in stubbornly just below your ribs, the zipper refusing to budge past halfway. You let out a long, frustrated sigh, hands dropping defeated to your sides as you stared at your reflection in the full-length mirror leaning against the bedroom wall.
The morning light poured in harsh through the half-open blinds, catching tiny dust motes that drifted lazily in the air like they had nowhere better to be. The floorboards creaked under your bare feet when you shifted your weight, the wood cool against your toes. The room still smelled faintly of last night’s takeout—Thai food you’d barely touched because the smell of lemongrass hit your nose and turned your stomach immediately. The containers were still stacked on the dresser, forgotten sometime between nausea and sleep. Robby’s black scrubs from yesterday were slung over the back of the chair, which reminded you of the full laundry basket in the corner. Everything felt too ordinary, too still, while your body had decided to change the rules overnight.
You stood in front of the mirror, fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans, trying again to pull them together. The denim strained against your fingers before slipping back with a quiet snap. “Come on,” you muttered under your breath, like the jeans might somehow cooperate if you asked nicely. It didn’t.
“That’s it. I’m done. I give up. I can’t…” The words tumbled out half to yourself, half to the mirror. Your hands slid up instinctively to cradle the gentle swell of your 16-week belly, turning sideways, then the other way, just staring at it in quiet disbelief—the soft curve now so clearly there, warm under your fingertips, rising and falling slightly with each breath like it had its own quiet rhythm. A little laugh bubbled up before you could stop yourself:
“Well, I guess I’m walking around naked from now on.”
The bump wasn’t huge—not yet—but it was undeniable now. The other day you’d still been able to button these jeans with a little strategic sucking in. Now? Forget it. Your favorite pair —the ones everyone has, the ones you reach for without thinking because they work for everything—were officially retired.
“Naked?”
His voice cut through your reverie, low and amused, startling you just enough that your hands tightened on your stomach.
You caught him first—Robby stepping out of the bathroom in fresh scrubs and your favorite hoodie, his hair still damp from the shower he’d just taken. A bead of water slid slowly down the side of his face, disappearing into the collar.
He looked annoyingly rested for someone who had only managed four hours of sleep.
“I can get behind that idea,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners as he crossed the room in a few easy strides.
“You’re not funny, Robinavitch.” You tried to sound stern, but his name came out softer than intended—your default when you were tired and your resolve was already slipping.
“It’s your fault, you know,” you muttered, half-accusing, half-teasing, as you saw him approach. “So don’t get cute with this.”
“Mine?” Robby’s voice rumbled low as he got closer. “If I remember correctly, you were there too. And you were the one who was begging me to—”
“Oh, shut up.” Heat rushed to your face as the memory of that night came flashing back; you elbowed him lightly as he reached you, but there was no real force behind it.
He pressed a quick, soft kiss to the side of your neck—barely there, just enough to make your skin tingle, the faint scratch of his stubble sending a small shiver down your spine. “But seriously though,” you said with a small breath, forcing your attention back to the problem at hand, “I don’t have anything to wear anymore. What am I gonna do? We have to be out the door in fifteen minutes. Jack will be furious if we’re late again.”
“Jack is a big boy,” Robby murmured.
He wrapped himself around you from behind like it was the most natural thing in the world. His chest settled warm against your back, arms sliding around your waist. His hands automatically found their place on your bare stomach—palms flat, fingers splayed protectively over the bump. Almost immediately, a tiny flutter answered under his touch, light and secret, like the baby was saying hello right back.
He rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror.
“He can handle a few extra minutes without us. Besides, he’s got Whitaker to terrorize. Kid’s probably already hiding in the supply closet.”
The corner of your mouth turned up, as you mentally pictured that scene. You leaned back into him, hands finding his on your stomach, gently lacing them together.
“I know we said we’d wait until twenty weeks,” you said quietly.
Robby’s thumbs brushed gentle circles over your skin.
“Just to be safe,” you added. “Just… to make sure everything’s okay.”
“Yeah,” he said softly.
“That was the plan,” you murmured. “No one until then… except Jack.”
Robby’s mouth curved into a small, knowing smile. “Jack’s different. He’s family.”
You huffed a quiet breath. “Exactly. Which is why he was pacing the hallway outside the ultrasound room like an anxious uncle.”
“That man has zero chill.”
You let the silence sit for a moment. “But I swear people are starting to notice.”
Robby’s brow lifted slightly. “You think?”
“I mean… we work in a hospital. Everyone’s trained to notice things like this.” You gestured vaguely at yourself. “I keep catching little looks, subtle, but still there.”
“You might be projecting a little,” he said gently.
“Maybe,” you admitted. “But the other day Dana asked if I needed a break… and then she handed me crackers.”
Robby snorted.
“Crackers,” you repeated, giving him a look. “Like she knew exactly how bad I felt that morning.”
“Dana knows everything,” he said matter-of-factly.
“That’s my point. I don’t think we can keep anything from that woman.”
“If Dana knows, she won’t tell anyone,” he said. “I guarantee it. So if you need a little more time… we can do that.”
You nuzzled slightly, savoring his closeness.
“I know it’s probably stupid,” you said after a moment. “I just… liked it being ours for a while. Our little bubble.”
“But,” you said, glancing down at yourself, “as much as I’d like to pretend otherwise… I don’t think we’re hiding this much longer. A baggy shirt won’t cover it anymore.”
“I mean, look at me,” you added with a small laugh.
Robby followed your gaze, a smile tugging at his lips. “Looks like the secret’s out,” he said softly. “I think you’re right, we’re past the point of keeping this under wraps. You’re fully in the glow phase now.”
“Not that I mind,” he added, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Honestly? I think it suits you.”
You tilted your head, letting a quiet smile slip through. “Maybe it does, and I do feel like I’m ready… but, Michael?”
“Can we at least keep today for ourselves? Just this one day?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Tomorrow we tell people. Today? Today’s ours.”
You let out a soft chuckle. “Tomorrow, then. But first…” You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You’re buying me maternity pants.”
Robby laughed, shaking his head. “Only because I love you… and apparently, I get to add fashion emergencies to my official job description.”
The two of you stood there for a moment, letting the morning stretch out around you, quiet and easy, before reality crept back in. But for now, this was your little bubble, even if it was just for one more day—and it was perfect.