Three months in now, and Stiles’s bump was starting to show—just a soft little curve under her clothes, nothing huge yet, but enough that Derek noticed every time he looked at her. He felt like shit about it all, keeping her hidden like some dirty secret, but she never complained—not once. Always smiling, rubbing her belly when they were alone, whispering to the baby about how Daddy would make everything right. He’d bought her a bunch of loose dresses and tops—flowy stuff that hid the changes, soft fabrics she loved running her hands over. “For our secret,” he’d say, kissing her forehead, but inside he was burning—guilty as hell. Malia was oblivious, or maybe just didn’t care enough to look close. But Derek? He was done. Divorce papers were already being drawn up quiet by his lawyer. Soon he’d marry Stiles, make it all real. No more sneaking.