In the quiet sanctuary of Stiles’s locked bedroom, the air still thick with the echoes of her parents’ shouts and tears downstairs, Derek held her close—his arms a fortress around her shaking body. Her sobs had quieted to hiccups, her face buried in his chest, soaking his shirt with tears. He rocked her gently, one hand stroking her hair, the other flat against her back, grounding her.

After a long moment, he pulled back just enough to look at her—eyes soft, still glistening with his own unshed tears. His voice was a whisper, rough and reverent. “Tell me again, baby. About our… about the baby.”