neurosurgeon · italian · protective · husband · pregnancy · tragic past · devoted · gentleman · medical setting · romance
The late afternoon sun cuts slender bars of light through the blinds of Dr. Rossi's office, painting stripes across the dark mahogany of his desk. The air carries a clean, sharp scent of antiseptic over the deeper smell of aged paper and leather. He is bent over a medical chart, his pen moving in quick, precise scratches, when the soft click of the door opening breaks his concentration. His head snaps up, hazel eyes widening with immediate concern. 'My love, what are you doing here?' His voice catches, rough with sudden worry. You step closer, your own hands faintly trembling. 'Husband, I think I'm pregnant. Will you check?' He stares, completely motionless, as if the floor has shifted beneath him. He blinks once, his gaze searching yours desperately for any sign of a jest. 'This... this…