Day One 

Oliver wasn’t sure if it was nerves or habit, but he found himself moving carefully the moment he woke up. Every step, every stretch of his arms, felt deliberate.

He made breakfast—plain oatmeal, light toast. No coffee. The clinic nurse had reminded him: avoid caffeine, avoid stress.

He sat at his kitchen table, staring at the pale gray light coming through the window.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that made a person feel both steady and restless at the same time.

I really did it. An impulse of a decision, but I'm glad I did it. Oliver smiled as he touched his abdomen.

That thought kept circling through his head like background music.

His body felt… normal. Maybe a little sore from the procedure. A faint heaviness in his lower belly. He wasn’t sure if it was real or just his brain inventing sensations.

No phone calls. No emails.

And so, he made himself tea instead. Watched steam curl from the mug. Sat quietly and breathed.

Day Three

Oliver called in sick from work. It wasn’t technically required, but his boss didn’t ask too many questions.

He spent the day cleaning—but gently. Folding clothes, wiping down counters. No heavy lifting.

Every now and then, he caught himself touching his stomach. Lightly. Absently. Like he was checking to see if something had changed.

That evening, sitting on the couch, he noticed the first flicker of queasiness.

A faint roll in his stomach after dinner. Not sharp. Just… unsettled.

Probably in my head, he thought. But he couldn’t quite convince himself.

Was it a side effect from the fertility injection? A Delayed reaction, maybe? Hmm. Maybe I'm thinking too much. Thought Oliver as he shook his head lightly.

Until Day Seven

Oliver opened the fridge and nearly gagged.

The smell of leftover takeout—something he’d usually ignore—hit him like a wave. Too strong. Too sour.

He shut the door quickly, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth.

Maybe it’s real after all…

Still, he didn’t let himself get too excited.

He spent the afternoon lying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. His body felt warm, too warm at times, but he wasn’t sick. Just… different.

And the waiting felt heavier today.

Every glance at his phone made his pulse jump. But no calls yet. Anxiously walking the apartment some days waiting for the call.

Day Fourteen

The clinic finally called.

“Mr. Reyes, we’d like you to come in for your blood test.”

His heart skipped.

“Is that… normal?” he asked.

“Yes,” the nurse assured him. “It’s standard for confirmation. Blood testing is more accurate than urine in these cases. Urine can give false positives or negatives, especially this early.”

Oliver nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

When he hung up, his hands were sweating again.

The appointment was set for the next morning.

He spent the rest of the evening sitting on his balcony, wrapped in a hoodie, staring out at the city lights.

It was really happening.

That night, sleep came slow and shallow.

The Next Day

At the clinic again.

Same hallway. Same scent of antiseptic and something faintly floral. Everything felt fast, one moment at the reception and the next getting my vitals.

Now Oliver sat in a private room, arm resting on the table as a nurse tied the band around his bicep.

She spoke quietly, the way people do when they know you’re anxious:

“This is quick. Just one vial. We’ll call you in two to three days with the results.”

Oliver nodded. His mouth felt dry.

The needle wasn’t bad. Just a pinch.

But when she left him alone afterward, sitting there with a cotton pad taped to his arm, the weight of it all hit him harder than he expected.

That tight, squeezing feeling in his gut. Like something pressing both up and down at once.

What if it’s no? Maybe....I'll try again. No, maybe... Hmm.

What if it’s yes? Planning, lots to do and organize. I would have to make a list.

He wasn’t sure which scared him more.

But as he walked home from the clinic, slow and quiet through the cool air, another feeling started creeping in alongside the nerves:

That maybe… he already knew.

There was a faint ache in his lower belly again. A bloaty, warm heaviness that hadn’t been there before all this.

A sharper sensitivity to smells.

And when he caught his reflection in a shop window, he paused.

His face didn’t look scared.

It looked… expectant. Excited yet Quietly sure of itself.

Three more days had passed yet no new News.

Two cups of herbal tea.

A light breakfast.

No phone calls yet.

Oliver spent most of the morning stretched out on his couch again, hands resting against his stomach as if by instinct.

He read through parenting articles on his phone. Some were cheesy. Some were too clinical.

But there was a kind of comfort in it—seeing how many people out there had already done what he was trying to do.

By late afternoon, he’d started making a list in his notes app: 

Crib? Have to order online or go shopping.

Clothes? For baby and me. 

Names? Should I wait to know the gender or do I start thinking about it now. Hmm. 

So much to decide.

Even just typing that last one made his heart stutter.

Another two days passed.

Another queasy morning.

The smell of his soap felt too strong. His skin felt extra sensitive—everything brushed against him differently.

Still, no call yet.

He didn’t panic. He just… waited. Steady. Quiet.

That evening, Oliver found himself outside again, sitting on a bench near the same park where he’d spoken with Nate.

The sky was heavy with clouds.

His hands rested against his stomach again. Lightly. Without thinking about it.

Double the love. Triple the love. However it happens…

He wasn’t afraid anymore.

Not really.

Now it was just a matter of time.