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История MidReal
The Baby Daddies
Сценарий:A 4'11 surrogate is concerned about the monstrous size of the baby she is carrying.
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Maggie Stevens
female. She is a 4'11" woman working as a housekeeper for the wealthy Simmons family. She is resilient,humorous,and caring. Maggie is a surrogate carrying the Simmons' baby,facing a challenging pregnancy due to her small size. Despite her physical limitations,she takes care of the Simmons children and withstands the pregnancy with humor and courage. After the baby's birth,she forms a supportive friendship with the new mother,Avery Simmons.
Avery Simmons
female. She is the wife of Mason Simmons and mothertobe. She is a pregnant woman struggling with anxiety and postpartum depression. Avery is caring,anxious,and vulnerable. She hires Maggie as a housekeeper to help her prepare for motherhood. Despite her physical discomfort and emotional struggles,Avery cherishes her husband's support and looks forward to meeting her baby soon. Following the baby's birth,she grapples with postpartum depression but finds solace in Maggie's friendship.
Julia Lee
female. She is Maggie's best friend who works as a hair stylist. She is supportive,lively,and encouraging. Julia helps Maggie navigate her life challenges,including her difficult pregnancy and job at the Simmons' household. She provides emotional support through humorous conversations and stands by Maggie's side during difficult moments. Julia welcomes Maggie home from hospital stay with love and excitement over the baby’s arrival.
I was only 4'11" and that sucked, but I never let my height hold me back.
I kept going even when things got tough.
Like right now…
My back ached.
The baby weighed in at three pounds two ounces when I went for my checkup yesterday.
I knew I was going to have a big-ass baby, but how big was too big?
He was going to come out to his ankles in my ass if he got any larger.
I laughed.
My boss, Avery Simmons, was pregnant and hired me to work as a housekeeper until she gave birth.
I was also her surrogate.
Talk about a clusterfuck…
I never thought in a million years I’d be working for someone I carried their baby inside me.
This is how I ended up working as a housekeeper for the wealthy Simmons family while carrying their baby in my belly.
It was a Monday morning and everyone was up getting ready for the day.
Mrs. Simmons had just gotten out of the shower and wrapped in a large bath towel.
She looked frustrated as she stared at herself in the mirror.
"You look beautiful, Mrs. Simmons," I told her even though I wasn’t in the room to compliment her.
I was here to clean and take care of the kids.
Two kids were running around playing while one kid was at school and another kid would be coming soon once this little fella decided he wanted to see the world.
I waddled into Mrs. Simmons' bedroom with fresh towels and set them on her dresser.
She was still examining herself in the mirror, tugging at her wet hair.
I had to stop and catch my breath.
Just walking across the room had me winded.
I was six months pregnant and felt like I was nine months along.
The baby kicked me in the stomach, making me wince in pain.
Mrs. Simmons turned around, seeing how uncomfortable I was from the mirror's reflection.
Her hand rested on her own swollen belly.
It was hard to believe that only one of us would be pregnant by the end of the day.
"I’m sorry," she said, breaking the awkward silence.
"You don’t have to be sorry," I replied back.
"It’s just pregnancy."
I knew I’d be giving birth to a big baby soon, but I didn’t think he’d be this big.
I was hoping to have him naturally, but with his size, it was going to be a challenge. "You’re right," she agreed with me.
"I feel like crap all the time."
"Do you have cravings?"
I asked her.
I loved hearing about what other pregnant women were going through, especially when it was related to food.
She was about to answer when she suddenly grabbed my arm, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"Last night…"
"Last night what?"
I asked, confused by her sudden change in behavior.
She looked like she’d seen a ghost or something.
She let go of my arm and started talking fast while waving her arms around everywhere.
"Last night…"
"Mrs. Simmons…"
She wasn’t listening to me as she continued talking excitedly about last night…
"…my husband made me a bowl of chicken noodle soup. You know how much I hate chicken noodle soup, but I ate it anyway. I was so hungry, I could’ve eaten a shoe."
She grabbed a bottle of lotion from her dresser and started squirting some in her palm while she talked.
"And then he went out to get pickles for me. I wanted pickled watermelon. He said they didn’t have any at the store, so he drove all the way to San Diego to get them."
She squirted more lotion in her palm than she needed and accidentally knocked over the bottle when she turned around to show me her hands. "Oh shit!"
She cried out in surprise as the bottle of lotion fell to the floor with a thud!
I bent down awkwardly to wipe up the lotion with a towel.
My pregnant belly made it hard for me to bend over without straining my back.
The baby shifted in my belly, making a sharp pain shoot through my side.
I winced from the pain and Mrs. Simmons noticed.
"Are you okay?"
She asked me, reaching out to help me.
"I’m fine," I told her, waving her off.
"I don’t want you straining yourself."
I was already straining myself by bending over to pick up the lotion spill on the floor.
The lotion had seeped deep into the plush carpet fibers, so I pressed down harder with the towel while working it in circles.
My back protested from the awkward position and sweat started beading on my forehead.
"Let me help you," Mrs. Simmons insisted, kneeling down beside me despite her own discomfort.
I shook my head, trying to smile through the pain.
"No, really, it's fine," I said, but then I paused, feeling a sudden tightness in my belly.
I froze in my kneeling position, one hand pressed against the damp carpet and the other instinctively moving to my swollen belly.
Mrs. Simmons hovered beside me anxiously, her damp hair hanging down in front of her face like a wet curtain.
The tightness was different from the baby’s usual movements.
It was like a band squeezing around my middle, tightening more and more until I could hardly breathe.
I started counting silently in my head, remembering what my doctor told me about timing contractions.
After thirty seconds, the sensation eased, and I let out a shaky breath.
Mrs. Simmons helped me stand, her fingers gripping my elbow tightly.
"I’m calling Mason," she said firmly, reaching for her phone on the dresser.
While she fumbled with her phone, I leaned against the bedroom wall, my legs trembling.
Another wave of tightness built in my belly, forcing me to slide down the wall and sit on the floor.
Mrs. Simmons paced back and forth beside me, her damp hair leaving wet marks on her robe.
She was trying to get Mason on the phone, but he wasn’t answering.
The pain intensified, and I gripped the carpet with both hands, trying to breathe through it.
"Mason, thank God," Mrs. Simmons blurted out when he finally picked up.
"Something’s wrong with Maggie. She’s having contractions."
I wanted to protest that I was fine, but all that came out was a weak groan as another contraction started.
Mrs. Simmons knelt beside me, gripping my hand while she talked to Mason on the phone.
"I’m at home," she told him.
"Yes, you need to come now," she insisted, her voice rising with urgency.
"Maggie’s contractions are getting closer together."
I squeezed her hand, trying to focus on her words as the pain washed over me again.
I curled forward, my fingers digging into the plush carpet.
Mrs. Simmons was still on the phone with Mason, describing my symptoms to him.
"She's sweating... yes, breathing hard... about every three minutes now."
I tried to count the seconds between contractions, but I kept losing track.
The pain was building in my lower back, and the baby shifted inside me, causing a sharp jab under my ribs.
Mrs. Simmons crouched down beside me, her damp hair brushing against my shoulder as she held the phone closer to my ear.
"Mason wants to know if you can walk to the car," she asked, her voice soft and urgent.
"I don't think I can," I gasped, feeling another contraction tighten my belly.
Mrs. Simmons nodded, her face set with determination.
"Alright, Mason, we're calling an ambulance," she said into the phone, her voice steady despite the situation.
I clutched my belly, feeling the pain spread through my middle.
Mrs. Simmons was talking to the 911 dispatcher now, explaining the situation in a rushed voice.
The pain had me panting, and sweat was dampening my uniform.
Just as sirens wailed in the distance, the vice-like grip around my middle began to ease.
The tightness gradually released, like a rubber band slowly losing tension.
I took experimental breaths, waiting for the next contraction, but nothing came.
Mrs. Simmons watched me intently, phone still pressed to her ear.
When the paramedics burst through the front door downstairs, I was able to sit up on my own.
Mrs. Simmons gripped my forearm, helping me to my feet.
My legs were shaky and weak from lying on the carpet.
The room spun slightly, and I paused halfway up, steadying myself against the wall.
Mrs. Simmons held me with both hands, her damp hair brushing against my shoulder.
I could hear heavy footsteps and equipment rattling up the stairs as the paramedics approached.
My belly still felt tight, but it wasn't painful now - just an uncomfortable pressure.
"Are you okay to walk?" Mrs. Simmons asked, her voice filled with concern.
I nodded, though I kept one hand pressed against the wall for support.
The paramedics reached us, and I took a deep breath, ready to face whatever came next.
I grip the banister tightly while descending the stairs between two paramedics, one in front and one behind me.
My legs are still shaky but growing steadier with each careful step.
Mrs. Simmons hovers nearby in her bathrobe, still dripping water onto the hardwood.
The baby shifts inside me, but without the earlier pain - just the usual uncomfortable pressure against my ribs.
At the bottom of the stairs, I pause to catch my breath.
The lead paramedic glances at me before nodding toward the gurney they left by the front door.
"Do you need to lie down?" he asks, his voice calm and professional.
I steady myself, one hand still gripping the banister while the other rests on my swollen belly.
The paramedics hover close, their hands ready to catch me if I stumble.
Mrs. Simmons takes a step forward, her bathrobe dripping onto the hardwood floor, but I raise my chin and lock eyes with the gurney waiting by the front door.
Taking a deep breath, I release the banister and push away the paramedic's offered arm.
My first step is wobbly, but I force my feet forward across the entryway, focusing on each careful movement.
I sit on the edge of the hospital bed, my feet dangling off the side.
Dr. Chen stands in front of me, her eyes fixed on the chart in her hand.
The fetal monitor is still strapped across my belly, and I can see the baby's movement on the screen - regular and steady.
"When do you feel these contractions?" she asks, not looking up from the chart.
"Um, I don't know. They just happen sometimes."
I shrug, trying to remember exactly when it started.
Dr. Chen glances up at me, her expression stern.
"And what were you doing today before they started?"
"Cleaning," I answer automatically.
"The Simmons' house is three stories. I was cleaning all morning."
I gesture to my stomach.
"With this, it takes longer than usual."
Dr. Chen frowns, her eyes returning to the chart.
"What else do you do there?"
"Laundry. Help with meals sometimes. Mrs. Simmons likes to cook but doesn't always have time."
I shift on the bed, feeling a bit uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
"And you climb stairs every day?"
"Yes," I admit, realizing where she's going with this.
"How many times?"
"Um... five? Six? Depends on what needs to be done."
Dr. Chen sighs heavily and closes my chart.
She looks at me with a serious expression.
"The contractions you're having are premature. Your body isn't ready for labor yet."
She gestures to the monitor still strapped across my belly.
"The baby is fine, but we need to make sure you don't go into labor too early." "Okay," I say, feeling a bit confused.
"But why is this happening?"
Dr. Chen places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.
"You're overexerting yourself. Your blood pressure has been higher than normal during your check-ups. We've been monitoring it closely."
She pulls out a pen and flips through my chart again.
"These contractions are your body's way of telling us that something needs to change."
I swallow hard, feeling a knot form in my stomach.
"So... what do I need to do?"
Dr. Chen looks at me seriously.
"You need to take it easy. No more heavy lifting or excessive physical activity."
She pauses for emphasis.
"No more climbing stairs multiple times a day."
"But—"
I start to protest, thinking about all the work I still need to do at the Simmons' house.
Dr. Chen interrupts, her voice firm but gentle.
"I know it's difficult, but you have to prioritize your health and the baby's."
Mrs. Simmons steps forward, her expression softening as she speaks.
"I'll call the cleaning service I used before you started working for us," she says, her still-damp hair now frizzing around her face.
She takes a step closer and places a hand on my shoulder.
"They can handle the heavy lifting and stairs. You can focus on lighter tasks."
I start to protest, but Mrs. Simmons cuts me off with a firm but gentle smile.
"It's for the best," she says.
"The baby needs you to be healthy."
I lean back against the hospital pillows, letting her words sink in.
The fetal monitor beeps steadily beside me, and I rest my hands on my swollen belly, feeling the baby shift and stretch.
The memory of those painful contractions is still fresh in my mind, making the decision clearer.
Mrs. Simmons pulls out her phone and starts scrolling through contacts.
"Let me call them right now," she says, not waiting for my response.
I watch as she finds the number and presses the call button.
The phone rings for a few moments before someone answers.
"Yes, hello," Mrs. Simmons says into the phone.
"I need to schedule a cleaning service to start tomorrow."
She listens for a moment, nodding her head even though the person on the other end can't see her.
"Three times a week should be fine. Yes, that's correct."
She pauses again, then says, "Thank you so much."
She hangs up the phone and turns to me with a smile.
"All taken care of," she says.
"You don't have to worry about a thing." I nod slowly, feeling a mix of relief and guilt wash over me.
I sit in the Simmons' living room folding baby clothes.
The doorbell chimes through the house, and I push myself up from the couch.
My back aches from sitting too long, and my swollen belly makes every movement more difficult.
One hand presses against my lower back while the other cradles my stomach.
The baby shifts position inside me as I waddle to the front door.
Each step feels like an eternity as I try to find a comfortable way to walk.
Through the glass panels of the front door, I see a familiar silhouette standing on the porch.
My heart skips a beat as I realize who it is.
Gideon stands on the porch in his work scrubs, probably stopping by after his shift at the hospital.
My fingers fumble with the lock as I try to smooth my messy ponytail, suddenly self-conscious about how I look.
I open the door, and Gideon's concerned face looks down at me.
His eyes widen slightly as he takes in my appearance.
"Hey," he says softly.
I step aside to let him in, and as he passes by, I catch the familiar scent of antiseptic from his scrubs.
He sets his bag down on the floor, and I waddle back to the couch where the pile of unfolded onesies waits.
Gideon follows, watching me struggle to lower myself onto the cushions.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.
I shrug, trying to downplay the morning's events.
"I'm fine," I say, but my voice shakes slightly as I remember the pain of those contractions.
Gideon sits beside me, his hand gently covering mine, offering silent support as I finally let the truth settle in.
I sink into the couch cushions, my body heavy with exhaustion.
The baby shifts inside me, and I feel a slight twinge of discomfort.
I look at Gideon, his eyes filled with concern.
"I had a rough morning," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I woke up with contractions. They were so painful."
Gideon's grip on my hand tightens slightly, offering silent support.
"What happened?" he asks, his voice filled with worry.
I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts.
"The ambulance came and took me to the hospital," I explain, my voice trembling slightly.
"Dr. Chen said I need to stay off my feet as much as possible."
Gideon nods, his expression serious.
"That's good," he says softly.
"You need to take care of yourself and the baby."
I nod in agreement, feeling a mix of relief and guilt wash over me.
"I know," I say, my voice filled with regret.
"I just didn't realize how serious it was until this morning."
Gideon squeezes my hand reassuringly.
"It's okay," he says gently.
"You're doing the best you can."
I smile weakly, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him.
"Thank you," I say softly.
"Just knowing that you're here for me makes me feel better." Gideon smiles back at me, his eyes filled with warmth.
"Of course," he says softly.
"I'll always be here for you."
We sit in silence for a moment, the only sound being the ticking of the clock on the wall.
I absently fold and unfold the edge of a tiny onesie while I talk to Gideon about what happened this morning.
He listens intently as I describe the pain of the contractions and how scared I was when they wouldn't stop coming.
His hand is steady on mine as he listens to me talk about how Dr. Chen put me on bedrest and how Mrs. Simmons has been taking care of me ever since then.
When I tell him about collapsing on Mrs. Simmons' bedroom floor, his jaw tightens slightly but he doesn't say anything else about it right now either way though I can tell by looking at him that he wants too badly enough already without having any more information than what little bit there really isn't much else left after all these months anyway so maybe someday soon things will get better again somehow someway hopefully soon enough at least before long anyway... The baby kicks hard against my ribs, making me wince mid-sentence.
Gideon shifts closer, concern etched on his face.
"Did Dr. Chen say anything else? Is the baby okay?" he asks, his voice barely concealing his anxiety.
I nod, trying to reassure him. "The baby's fine," I reply softly, "but they want to monitor us closely from now on."
I lean back against the couch cushions, feeling the weight of the baby press against my spine.
Gideon's words hang in the air as he shifts uncomfortably beside me.
My hands move instinctively to cradle my swollen belly, which seems impossibly large on my tiny frame.
The baby kicks hard against my palm, making me grimace.
When I try to defend my decision to be a surrogate, Gideon cuts me off with a gentle head shake.
His medical knowledge makes his concern even more pointed.
"You don't have to explain," he says softly, his eyes searching mine.
"But I can't help worrying about you and the baby."
I sigh, feeling the weight of his concern.
I watch as Gideon gathers his things to leave.
My hand is still warm from where he held it.
He adjusts the collar of his scrubs and gives me one last concerned look before heading to the door.
As he turns the handle, Mrs. Simmons appears in the doorway.
She's still wearing her damp bathrobe from this morning, her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head.
She glances between us, catching my gaze still fixed on Gideon's retreating back as he walks to his car.
The baby kicks hard against my ribs, breaking my focus.
Mrs. Simmons steps inside, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
I sit awkwardly on the couch, my hands fidgeting with the onesie.
Mrs. Simmons closes the front door and settles beside me.
She's still wearing her bathrobe from this morning, and her hair is piled haphazardly on top of her head.
Her knowing smile makes my cheeks burn.
She settles into the couch cushions, her eyes never leaving mine.
"I see Gideon stopped by," she says, her voice gentle but knowing.
I nod, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks.
"He was worried about me," I explain, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Simmons nods, her expression softening.
"I know he was," she says softly.
"He's been very attentive since you were in the hospital."
I fumble with the edge of the onesie, avoiding her gaze.
The baby kicks hard against my ribs again, making me wince.
Mrs. Simmons reaches out and gently takes the onesie from my trembling hands.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks softly, her eyes searching mine. I stare down at my swollen belly, unable to meet her gaze.
The baby kicks again, making me shift uncomfortably on the couch cushions.
Mrs. Simmons places a gentle hand on my knee, offering silent support.
"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," she says softly.
"But I think I already know."
I look up at her, my eyes searching hers for answers.
She smiles softly, her expression understanding.
"I've seen the way you look at him," she explains gently.
"And I've seen the way he looks at you too."
I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Do you think he knows?" I ask, my voice barely audible.
Mrs. Simmons gives a small nod, her eyes filled with empathy.
I sit alone in my bedroom that evening, staring down at Gideon's number on my phone screen.
My fingers hover over the call button, hesitating.
The baby shifts restlessly inside me, making me wince.
After three failed attempts to dial, I force myself to press call before I lose my nerve.
The phone rings once, twice, three times.
My heart pounds in my chest as I consider hanging up.
On the fourth ring, I hear his voice say "Hello?"
The baby gives a forceful kick, as if urging me forward.
I grip the phone tightly, my knuckles turning white.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and thick.
My bedroom feels too small, too warm, as I shift against my pillows trying to find a comfortable position with my huge belly.
The baby kicks repeatedly under my ribs while I wait for Gideon to speak.
Finally, his voice breaks the silence, soft and careful.
"I've been thinking about you all day," he says.
My free hand moves to my stomach, feeling the strong movements inside.
I take a deep breath, gathering courage to tell him how I feel.
"Gideon, there's something I need to tell you," I say, my voice trembling slightly.
He pauses, and I can almost hear the concern in his silence.
"Is everything okay?" he asks gently, his tone filled with genuine worry.
I lean back against my headboard, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder.
The baby shifts position, pressing uncomfortably against my spine, but I focus on steadying my breathing.
When he asks about my contractions from this morning, I describe how they've completely stopped.
He starts explaining medical terms about preterm labor, his professional tone mixing with personal worry.
I adjust my position slightly, wincing as the baby kicks my ribs again.
Despite the discomfort, hearing Gideon's voice soothes the lingering anxiety from this morning.
I shift uncomfortably on my bed, my heart pounding as he talks about preterm labor symptoms.
The baby kicks hard against my ribs again, almost like encouraging me to speak.
"Gideon," I interrupt his medical explanation, my voice trembling slightly.
"I need to tell you something."
He falls silent, waiting for me to continue.
I grip the phone tighter, struggling to find the right words.
"These past months, seeing you at appointments, today when you came over..."
I pause, taking a shaky breath.
"I think I'm falling for you."
I clutch the phone tighter as his words sink in, my hands trembling against my swollen belly.
The baby kicks repeatedly under my palm while I process what he just said.
When I try to respond, my voice catches in my throat.
Gideon fills the silence, explaining how he's watched me handle this difficult pregnancy with grace, how he admires my strength.
He wants to say more but stops himself, remembering his professional position.
I shift against my headboard, wincing at a sharp movement from the baby, and whisper that we should meet to talk about this properly.
He agrees, and we settle on Riverside Park tomorrow afternoon.
I suggest 2 PM by the duck pond, a spot I often walk to ease my back pain.
The baby shifts again while we finalize the details, and I wince, trying to adjust my position.
Gideon offers to bring coffee, and his mention of decaf brings a smile to my face.
He remembers I switched to decaf when I found out I was pregnant.
We hang up after making plans, and I struggle to stand from the bed, using both hands to push myself up.
At my dresser mirror, I examine my flushed face and messy hair, already planning what to wear tomorrow.
I take a deep breath, feeling a mix of anticipation and uncertainty about what tomorrow might bring.
I waddle along the park path toward the duck pond, one hand supporting my aching back.
My sundress feels tight across my huge belly, and I scan the area for Gideon.
The afternoon sun makes me sweat as I navigate around playing children and strollers.
Finally, I spot him sitting on a bench, holding two coffee cups.
He's still in his hospital scrubs, and the baby gives a painful kick as I approach, making me pause to catch my breath.
"Are you okay?" Gideon asks, concern etched on his face as he stands to greet me.
"Yeah, just the baby reminding me who's boss," I reply with a wry smile, trying to ease the tension.
He chuckles softly, handing me the decaf coffee, "Well, let's hope they're kinder when we get to the serious stuff."
I shift on the hard park bench, trying to get comfortable despite the baby's weight.
Gideon's question catches me off guard, and I wrap my hands around the warm coffee cup, watching the ducks glide across the pond.
The morning's contractions flash through my mind - lying helpless on Mrs. Simmons' floor, the paramedics rushing me to the hospital, Dr. Chen's stern warnings about my condition.
"I guess you could say it was a wake-up call," I explain, "Life is too short to wait around."
I shift on the hard bench, my back aching as I turn to face him.
The decaf coffee warms my hands while I gather courage to ask the question that's been nagging me.
"Why didn't you ever say anything before?"
My voice comes out smaller than intended.
Gideon stares at the rippling pond water, his scrubs wrinkled from his long shift.
The baby kicks sharply against my ribs, making me wince.
When Gideon notices my discomfort, he automatically reaches toward my belly but stops himself mid-motion, his professional boundaries visibly warring with his personal feelings.
"I didn't want to overstep," he admits, his eyes locked on the pond.
"You were always so busy."
I stare at him in shock, the coffee cup trembling in my hands as he uses the old nickname I haven't heard since high school.
The sound of it on his lips brings back a rush of memories - passing each other in hallways, his quiet hellos, and my secret crush that I thought he never noticed.
The baby kicks hard again, making me wince.
Gideon's hand hovers over my belly before he pulls it back, caught between familiarity and professional distance.
"Did you really think I'd be upset?"
I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
The park is quiet except for the distant laughter of children playing tag.
Gideon looks at me then, his eyes searching mine with a mix of longing and uncertainty.
"I didn't want to ruin what we had," he confesses.
The baby kicks once more, and this time Gideon reaches out without hesitation, placing his hand on my belly with a tender touch. "You know, I still remember our history class," he says softly, his eyes filled with memories.
"I thought about those days often."
"Why didn't you ever say anything before?"
Gideon sighs, his hand still resting gently on my belly.
"I was scared you'd moved on, that you'd forgotten about us."
I shift uncomfortably on the hard bench, his words sinking in.
The baby kicks against his hand, still resting on my belly.
"I tried dating a few times in high school," he continues, "But it never felt right."
My face burns remembering how I used to deliberately sit next to him in AP Biology, making excuses to share his textbook.
The popular guys who asked me out never stood a chance when I could be Gideon's lab partner instead.
I laugh softly, remembering those days.
"You were always my first choice," I admit, and the baby gives another sharp kick, making us both jump.
Gideon's eyes widen slightly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"I never knew," he says, his voice tinged with regret.
"Maybe we could have had more time together if I'd just spoken up."
