The air in the room shifts the moment the conversation stops being about “us” and starts being about forever. Natalie can feel it—like a door creaking open in the dark. One second, they’re talking like two people trying to understand each other. The next, the topic lands on something far heavier than romance.

“A baby,” the question hangs there, sharp and impossible to ignore.

Gino doesn’t joke. He doesn’t soften it. He doesn’t dodge it like most people would when the stakes suddenly rise. Instead, he answers with something bluntly human—something that sounds like it’s been waiting behind his teeth for a long time.

“I mean… I always wanted to have a child of my own.”

Natalie’s reaction is instant. Not just surprise—alarm. Because in her world, a desire for a baby isn’t a cute subject. It’s not a “maybe someday” dream you toss into the air like confetti. It’s a decision that rearranges everything: timing, commitment, trust, and the kind of future you can’t take back once it starts.

And that’s exactly why she pushes back—because the timing feels wrong, like the conversation is skipping steps.

“Right,” she says, careful but tense, as if she’s measuring his words for danger. “And I guess the question is… would you be open to it?”

Gino looks at her, and you can almost see him realizing he’s crossed a line—only he’s too deep into the conversation to pull back now.

“I mean… that’s honestly… an insane thing to even think about.”

Insane.

Natalie hears that and almost laughs, but it comes out as something sharper than laughter—frustration masked as disbelief. Because she isn’t hearing “no.” She’s hearing shock. The kind of shock that makes it seem like this baby talk didn’t come from a place of careful planning. It came from a place of sudden emotion—or worse… sudden pressure.

“We just established today that you’re not talking to other women,” Natalie says, and her voice rises just slightly, like she can’t believe he’s making her hold a new reality on her shoulders. “And now we’re talking about babies.”

The suspense thickens. Because what she’s really saying is: Where is this coming from? If you can pivot that fast—from uncertainty and distance to fatherhood and futures—then what else could change just as quickly?

Gino tries to keep the conversation moving, but Natalie is already reacting like someone who’s been blindsided in slow motion. She can feel the room filling with pressure, as if every second is a test and the wrong answer could explode everything.

“Okay,” she says, and the way she says it makes it clear she’s not just talking—she’s searching for footing. “I’m going to get the room.”

She stands, and the movement feels theatrical, like an escape attempt—but it’s also strategic. When someone is cornered by timing, the only power they have is to control the pace. Natalie knows it. Gino knows it. And somehow, the room knows it too.

Then there’s Uncle Marco—present in the background but somehow impossible to ignore. He isn’t just family. He’s a force. And in Natalie’s mind, he’s the kind of force that turns personal things into judgment.

Uncle Marco’s confidence comes out like it belongs to him—like the story he’s decided is already finished.

“I don’t think he realizes how old I am,” Natalie mutters, almost to herself. It’s not only about age—it’s about time running out, about how people assume they know the ending before they even hear the middle. “I don’t think he realizes that ship has sailed.”

For anyone else, it might sound like melodrama. But Natalie doesn’t say it like a complaint. She says it like a verdict. Like she’s already measured the damage, already checked the math, already decided she’s not going to play the same emotional game twice.

Gino responds carefully.

“I don’t know about completely sailed,” he says. “Because there’s always options.”

Always options.

Natalie freezes for half a second at that phrase—because “options” can sound generous, but it can also sound like bargaining. Like something is being negotiated rather than honored. Like her life is being treated like a problem that has more than one solution.

And suddenly Uncle Marco’s presence feels heavier than before. Not because he’s speaking—because Natalie can feel what he represents: tradition, morality, and the kind of cultural expectation that doesn’t leave room for nuance.

She takes a breath, then—

“I’m going to have to excuse myself.”

She walks away like she’s disappearing from