The elevator hummed softly as it climbed, and Amelia pressed her back against the mirrored wall, trying to breathe.
Her hands were trembling. The small silver box was clutched against her chest like it could hold her courage.
It was almost midnight.
The rain outside painted long rivers of light down the glass of the city — Manchester half asleep, but alive enough to remind her that she wasn't dreaming.
When the doors opened, the corridor was empty.
She walked slowly, each step echoing in the silence until she reached his door.
The one she'd walked through so many times before.
She stood there, heart pounding, the silver box still tight in her hand.
And then she knocked.
Once.
Twice.
There was a pause.
A sound of movement inside — hurried, unsteady — and then the lock clicked.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Alexander looked like he hadn't slept in days.
His shirt was half unbuttoned, his jaw dark with stubble, eyes raw and desperate — but the moment he saw her, everything in him just… stopped.
"Amelia," he whispered, breathless.
She didn't say a word.
She didn't need to.
She threw herself into his arms.
The impact pushed him back a step, but he caught her instantly, his arms wrapping around her like instinct, like oxygen.
For a second, neither of them breathed.
Then she buried her face in his neck and sobbed — the kind of sob that came from somewhere deep, the kind that had been trapped for too long.
He held her tighter, his hand cradling the back of her head, his voice shaking.
"Don't cry, please don't cry. I've been losing my mind. I called you, I— God, I didn't know if you'd ever come back."
"I thought—" her voice cracked between words. "I thought you'd betrayed me."
"I never would," he said, the words raw, broken. "Not you. Not ever."
They stayed like that for a long time.
No words, just heartbeats.
Her tears against his skin, his breath against her hair.
When she finally pulled back, her face was flushed, her eyes swollen.
He reached up and brushed his thumb under her eye, gently wiping a tear that hadn't even fallen yet.
"You look tired," he murmured, almost to himself. "You haven't eaten, have you?"
She let out a small laugh — half-sob, half-relief. "You sound like my mother."
"Your mother would be right," he said softly. "You shouldn't be alone right now."
"I know," she whispered. "That's why I came."
He looked down at her then — really looked — and saw something fragile but certain in her expression.
"What changed?" he asked quietly. "Yesterday, you wouldn't even answer the phone."
Her fingers toyed with the ribbon of the box still in her hands.
"I saw the news," she said finally. "The tests. The police. I saw that you… that you were telling the truth."
He swallowed hard. "I never wanted you to find out like that."
"I know."
Her voice broke again. "I'm so sorry for doubting you."
He shook his head. "Don't. You saw something that would've destroyed anyone. I should've protected you from this."
"You can't protect me from everything," she said, and for the first time, she smiled through her tears. "But you can hold me after."
And so he did.
After a while, she stepped back slightly and placed the small silver box on the counter.
"What's that?" he asked softly.
She hesitated, her voice trembling. "Something I was supposed to give you… before all of this."
He frowned slightly, reaching out — but she opened it before he could.
Inside was a delicate white ribbon and a tiny card that read, For our beginning.
His breath caught.
He looked from the box to her face, searching.
"I did a test last week," she whispered, eyes filling again. "And another one this morning, just to be sure. I wanted to tell you that night. I wanted to see your face when I did."
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
"You're—"
She nodded. "I'm pregnant."
He stepped closer as if afraid she'd vanish.
His hands found hers, shaking slightly.
"Amelia," he breathed. "Are you sure?"
She laughed softly through the tears. "Very sure."
He exhaled, overwhelmed, and his hand went instinctively to her stomach.
It was still flat beneath the soft fabric of her dress, but the gesture made her heart twist.
He looked up, eyes glassy. "That's our baby?"
She nodded, smiling faintly. "Ours."
He pressed his forehead against hers. "I don't deserve this. You. Any of it."
"Yes, you do," she said softly. "You fought for me even when I didn't believe you."
He laughed quietly, a broken sound of disbelief and joy all at once.
"I didn't fight because I thought I'd win," he said. "I fought because I couldn't live if I didn't try."
The clock ticked quietly in the background as they stood there in the middle of the apartment, wrapped in each other, the world outside shrinking until it no longer mattered.
When she finally stepped back, her cheeks were still wet but her smile was real.
"Can I stay?" she asked softly.
He let out a shaky laugh. "You're home."
Later, they ended up on the sofa together.
Neither knew how — it just happened naturally, the way everything between them always did.
She was curled against him, her head resting on his chest.
The television played softly, the kind of mindless show you don't watch but just let fill the silence.
His arm was wrapped around her, his other hand tracing slow, absent-minded circles over her stomach.
It was a simple gesture — small, tender, reverent — but it undid her completely.
"You're really doing that," she whispered, smiling faintly.
He kissed the top of her head. "I'm trying to meet them early. Let them know I'm here."
"They can probably hear you already," she murmured. "You talk enough."
He chuckled softly. "Then I'll tell them everything. How brave their mother is. How she forgave me when I didn't think I deserved it. How she saved me from becoming the man I used to be."
She tilted her head to look up at him. "You did that yourself."
He shook his head gently. "No, Amelia. You did."
For a long while, they stayed like that — the flicker of the TV reflecting on their faces, the rain tapping lightly on the windows, his fingers tracing her hand, her heartbeat steady against him.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing perfect.
Just two people who had nearly lost everything, finding it again in the quiet.
Before she drifted into sleep, she whispered, "Alexander?"
"Mm?"
"I love you."
He smiled, brushing his lips against her forehead. "Good. Because I don't think I ever stopped loving you — even when I thought I'd never see you again."
Her eyes fluttered shut, and she mumbled softly, "Don't ever let me go."
"Never," he whispered.
And as the city outside settled into silence, the two of them lay there — her breathing soft, his fingers still tracing slow, protective circles over her stomach —
finally, at peace.