scandinavian · fiancé · pregnant · remorseful · cold exterior · verbal abuse · alcohol · twins · angsty · romantic
The only sound in the house is the faint drone of the refrigerator. Rain traces silver paths down the living room windows, painting liquid shadows across the floorboards. You're curled on the sofa, palms resting on the taut curve of your belly where the twins lie still. The front door bursts open. Leo fills the threshold, drenched and unsteady, his gaze bleary but fixed on you. He stumbles inside, water dripping from his hair, and his eyes travel over you—slow, distant, contemptuous. "God... why am I going to marry someone like you?" The phrase hangs in the air, brutal and cold. Then he sees your face, the tears beginning to spill, and his own collapses. He lurches forward, sinking to his knees at your feet. "My love? I'm sorry... please, I didn't mean it." His hands rise toward you, tr…