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MidReal Story
The Unexpected Pregnancy
Scenario:soy noah de 19 años soy guapo y musculoso soy español, soy un estudiante de medicina de la universidad de madrid y vivo con mi novia Lucía lopez en mi piso de Madrid y mis padres y mi hermano de 18 años viven en un pueblo de toledo y tengo novia que se llama Lucía López de 19 años pelo largo rubio que estudia derecho en mi misma universidad y vive conmigo en Madrid todo esto sucede en el año 2024, con mis amigos lucas, Mateo,leo todos estudiantes de la universidad
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Noah Martinez
determined, and protective. Noah shares a deep love for his girlfriend Lucía and is fiercely loyal to her. He struggles with the challenges of balancing his studies and personal life, often feeling overwhelmed by his responsibilities. Despite this, he remains committed to his relationship and strives to make Lucía happy. His bond with her is tested when she becomes pregnant unexpectedly.
Leo Martínez
adventurous, and confident. Leo often takes risks that others might shy away from but maintains a strong sense of camaraderie within their group of friends.
Lucas García
supportive, and humorous. Lucas often provides comic relief in tense situations and offers advice to Noah on matters of the heart. His friendship with Noah dates back to their early university days, providing stability amidst the chaos of student life. Lucas remains a constant presence in Noah's life, offering encouragement during difficult times.
My name is Noah Martinez, I am 19 years old and I study medicine at the University of Madrid.
I am Spanish, I live in Madrid in an apartment that I share with my girlfriend, Lucía López, who is also 19 years old, blonde and very beautiful.
She studies law at the University of Madrid, just like me.
My family lives in a small town in Toledo, my parents and my 18-year-old brother.
I am passionate about what I do and I am very persevering.
I have a beautiful girlfriend who is the center of my universe and for whom I would do anything.
I love her more than my life and I would give it up for her; she is my everything.
I am a bit selfish when it comes to having to share her with others, but I am also very comprehensive.
I know that without friends you cannot live, but sometimes I get a little jealous when they talk to her, even though I know it's just out of friendship.
I am a bit possessive and I get very jealous if someone touches what's mine.
I am also very independent and I like to have my things clear.
I always try to be honest although sometimes I lie to avoid hurting someone with the truth.
I am responsible and mature for my age.
After a long day of medical school, I stop at the local market to buy the ingredients I need to make Lucia's favorite paella.
When I arrive home, I clear the kitchen counter and arrange the fresh seafood, vegetables and saffron that I bought.
I have never made paella before; I've only seen my mother make it, so I am a bit lost.
I put the oil in a big pan and then add the sofrito.
While it is cooking, I look at my phone at my mother's messages, in which she explained step by step how to make a good paella.
Once the sofrito is cooked, I add the rice and let it cook for a few minutes before adding the vegetables and seafood.
The kitchen is filled with delicious aromas as they cook in the pan.
I set our small dining table with candles and wine glasses while waiting for them to be ready. After what seems like an eternity, they are finally done.
I plate them up and put them on the table just as Lucia puts her key in the door.
When Lucia steps through the door, I wipe my sweaty palms on my apron and stand beside the table.
She freezes in the doorway, her law textbooks still clutched to her chest, her eyes widening at the sight of the steaming paella.
The yellow-orange rice glistens with shrimp and mussels arranged in a spiral pattern, just like my mother suggested.
I step forward, fighting the urge to apologize for any imperfections in the dish.
Instead, I pull out her chair and gesture to the perfectly set table, complete with her favorite wine glasses filled with Rioja.
"Noah, this is amazing," she says, setting her books down and taking a seat.
"I wanted to surprise you," I reply, feeling a mix of relief and anticipation.
She looks at me, her expression shifting, "There's something I need to tell you too—it's about us."
I lean forward in my chair, studying her face as she fidgets with her napkin.
The steam from the paella rises between us, momentarily forgotten.
My stomach tightens when she won't meet my eyes, instead staring at the carefully arranged prawns on her plate.
I reach across the table to take her hand, but she pulls back slightly.
The flickering candles cast shadows on her features as she takes a deep breath.
"Noah," she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, "I think I'm pregnant."
I sit motionless, my eyes fixed on her tear-streaked face as she stares down at the untouched paella.
My medical training kicks in, mentally calculating dates and possibilities.
She continues, "I'm two weeks late, and I took three tests this morning. They were all positive."
The weight of responsibility settles over me like a heavy blanket—our studies, our tiny apartment in Madrid, our youth.
But as I watch her shoulders shake, something shifts inside me.
I stand up and walk around the table to pull her into my arms.
"We're going to be parents," I whisper, surprised by the growing excitement in my voice.
She buries her face in my chest, her tears soaking through the fabric of my shirt.
I hold her at arm's length, my hands resting on her shoulders as she wipes her cheeks.
The candlelight catches the wetness on her skin, making it glow.
Her breathing steadies, and she looks up at me, her blue eyes searching mine for reassurance.
The paella grows cold on our plates, forgotten in this moment of shared vulnerability.
My heart pounds as I see a glimmer of hope replace the fear in her expression.
I guide her back to her chair, pushing the paella aside to make room for a notepad I pull from my medical bag.
My hands shake slightly as I write "Our Plan" in bold letters at the top of the page.
Her fingers intertwine with mine on the table, seeking comfort.
I take a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand.
"We'll start by telling our families," I say, writing down the point as I speak.
"Then we'll schedule an appointment with my doctor friends. We'll need to figure out our living situation, maybe look for a bigger apartment."
Lucia's grip on my hand tightens at the mention of moving.
The candles have burned lower now, casting long shadows across the table and our makeshift planning session.
She nods, her voice steadying as she replies, "I can talk to my boss about more flexible hours, maybe even working from home."
I smile, feeling a surge of gratitude for her resilience.
"And I'll see if I can pick up extra shifts at the clinic," I add, squeezing her hand gently.
I move my chair closer to hers, our planning session momentarily paused.
The notepad sits between us, its pages now filled with hastily scribbled ideas and arrangements.
My hand reaches out, catching a loose blonde strand that has fallen across her face.
As I tuck it behind her ear, our eyes meet.
The candlelight catches the remnants of tears on her cheeks, but there's something different in her expression now—a mix of vulnerability and determination.
Lucia takes a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you think we can really do this?" she asks, her eyes searching mine for certainty.
I nod, my voice firm as I reply, "Together, we can handle anything."
I pull her closer, the notepad sliding across the table as I lean in.
The candles have burned lower now, casting soft shadows across her tear-stained face.
My hands cup her cheeks, thumbs gently wiping away the remaining moisture beneath her eyes.
She's still trembling slightly, but her breathing has steadied.
The apartment feels different now, filled with the weight of our future plans and the promise of a new beginning.
When I press my lips to her forehead, I linger there, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair.
I stand, gently pulling her up from her chair.
The paella and our planning notes are left behind on the table as we make our way to our bedroom, hand in hand.
My legs feel weak, as if the weight of becoming parents has finally settled upon me.
Lucia disappears into the bathroom to change while I clear away the candles, one by one.
My mind is already rehearsing how I'll break the news to my parents.
In bed, she curls against my chest, her breathing gradually steadying.
Hours later, I'm still awake, lying in the darkened bedroom.
The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a silver glow across our bed.
Lucia's steady breathing is a soothing melody beside me.
As I turn my head, her face comes into view, illuminated by the moon's gentle light.
Her features are peaceful now, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil of our earlier discussion.
When she stirs and opens her eyes, I find myself studying her face.
The curve of her cheek, the slight part of her lips, and the way her blonde hair spreads across the pillow like a golden halo.
She shifts closer, her body warm against mine beneath the covers.
Our hands find each other under the sheets, fingers intertwining naturally.
I'm not sure what time I finally fell asleep, but the sunlight filtering through the curtains of our bedroom drags me out of my slumber.
My body feels stiff from a restless night's rest, but Lucia still sleeps soundly beside me, her blonde hair tangled across the pillow.
The events of the previous evening rush back to me as my eyes adjust to the light.
The failed romantic dinner, the pregnancy revelation, and the tearful planning session that followed.
I carefully slide out of bed, not wanting to disturb her, and make my way into the kitchen.
The paella pan and abandoned wine glasses from yesterday sit like remnants of a forgotten battle on the stovetop and counter.
The coffee maker gurgles to life beneath my hand as I pour in water and add a fresh filter.
The aroma of brewing coffee fills the air as I wait for it to finish.
When I hear Lucia stirring in our bedroom, my heart rate picks up.
I brace myself for the day ahead, knowing it's time to face our new reality together.
As the coffee finishes brewing, I pour steaming hot cups for both of us.
Lucia's favorite mug, adorned with a picture of a cat, receives an extra dollop of cream before I place it on the counter.
I set the matching dog-themed mug beside it.
The kitchen still carries the scent of last night's abandoned paella, and I quickly clear it from the table.
In its place, I set down a plate of toast and fruit, hoping to tempt her appetite.
When Lucia emerges from the bedroom, she's wearing one of my oversized t-shirts.
The fabric hangs loosely on her slender frame, accentuating her petite beauty.
She makes her way to the kitchen, her bare feet padding softly across the floor.
As she reaches for her mug, I notice her hands trembling slightly.
She pauses, as if reconsidering her actions.
With a gentle motion, she pushes the cup away from herself.
"I can't drink this," she says softly, her voice laced with a mixture of sadness and resignation.
"It's not good for the baby."
Her words hang in the air, a poignant reminder of our new reality.
Without hesitation, I reach for her rejected mug and pour its contents down the sink.
The coffee swirls away, leaving an empty mug behind.
I open one of the kitchen cabinets and search for the herbal tea that my mother had brought over during her last visit.
It's supposed to help with pregnancy, according to my mom.
After finding the box, I set it on the counter and head back to the sink to fill a kettle with water.
As I wait for the water to boil, I arrange a plate with fresh strawberries and whole grain toast.
It's Lucia's favorite breakfast, and I hope it'll lift her spirits today.
Once the water has boiled, I pour some into her mug and drop in one of the herbal tea bags from my mom's box.
I watch Lucia sit down at our small kitchen table, still wearing my oversized shirt from last night.
She looks up at me as I approach her with her plate of food and steaming mug.
I set them down in front of her before turning to head back to the counter.
Her hand reaches out and catches my wrist, pulling me back towards her. She motions for me to take a seat beside her at the table.
I comply, feeling a mix of emotions as she looks at me with those big blue eyes of hers.
"Thank you," she says softly.
Her voice is filled with sincerity as she leans in to gently kiss my cheek.
"Do you think we're ready for this?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I hesitate, searching for the right words.
"We'll figure it out together," I finally reply, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
I pick up one of the strawberries from Lucia's plate and examine it in the morning light.
The ripe fruit's red flesh glows against my fingers.
Our kitchen, once a warm and welcoming space, now feels charged with the weight of last night's revelation and the uncertainty of our future.
I break the strawberry into two unequal pieces, juice staining my fingertips.
The larger piece is offered to Lucia, who accepts it with trembling hands.
She brings the fruit to her lips, pausing briefly before taking a slow bite.
As she savors the strawberry, I reach for my phone on the kitchen counter.
It's still there, where I left it when I got up this morning.
The half-eaten breakfast lies between us, a reminder of our interrupted meal.
Lucia finishes her tea before setting the mug down beside her plate.
I pull up my parents' contact information on my phone as she grabs my free hand, squeezing it tightly.
My thumb hovers over the call button, hesitant to make the connection.
We decide to start with my family since they live farther away in Toledo, a small town an hour and a half south of Madrid.
My thumb trembles as I press dial and put the phone on speaker.
Lucia's grip on my hand tightens, and I notice her other hand protectively covering her stomach.
The phone rings twice before my mother's cheerful "¡Hola!" fills our kitchen.
The sound of her voice makes my throat constrict, and Lucia's fingers dig deeper into my palm.
"¿Hola, m'ijo?" my mother continues, her voice warm and full of love.
She always answers the phone with a mix of Spanish and English, a habit that's become familiar to me over the years.
I try to respond, but my voice catches in my throat.
Lucia gives my hand another squeeze as I struggle to find the right words.
"¿Noah? ¿Estás bien?" my mom asks, concern evident in her voice.
I swallow hard, trying to clear the lump in my throat.
"Si, mamá. Estoy bien," I finally manage to say.
"¿Y Lucía?"
My mom's voice is filled with warmth as she asks about Lucia.
I glance over at her, and she gives me a reassuring smile.
"Sí, también está bien," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
"¿Qué pasa? ¿Por qué llamaste?" my mom asks, sensing that something's wrong.
Her words are laced with worry as she asks why I called.
I take another deep breath before responding.
"Hola, mamá. ¿Cómo estás?" she asks again, her voice filled with warmth and love.
I can hear the sound of pots clinking in the background as she moves around her kitchen. "Estoy bien," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
"¿Y Lucía?"
My mom's voice is filled with concern as she asks about Lucia.
I glance over at her, and she gives me a reassuring smile.
"Sí, también está bien," I respond, trying to keep my voice calm.
"Hola," Lucia says softly from beside me on the couch.
"Hola," my mom responds warmly over the phone line.
"How are you doing today?" she asks Lucia in English.
"I'm doing well," Lucia replies in her native language.
"I'm glad to hear that," my mom says warmly in English.
"¿Quieres hablar con papá?" she asks me in Spanish, offering to pass the phone to my father.
"No, mamá. Estoy bien. Solo quería saludarte," I respond quickly before she can hand the phone off to him. "Bueno. ¿Y cómo te va en la universidad?" she asks me in Spanish, switching back to our native language.
"Mamá, hay algo que necesitamos decirte," I interject, feeling Lucia's grip tighten around my hand.
"¿Algo importante?" my mom asks, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of concern.
"Sí, mamá," I reply, taking a deep breath. "Lucia está embarazada."
I grip the phone tightly as my mom's excited voice fills the kitchen.
"¡Estás embarazada! ¡Eso es increíble! ¡Estoy tan emocionada!" she exclaims in a mix of Spanish and English, her words tumbling out rapidly.
"How far along are you? ¿Cuántos meses? What symptoms are you feeling?" she asks, switching between languages as she bombards us with questions.
"¿Cuándo es el parto?" my dad's deep voice shouts in the background, his excitement evident in his words.
"¿Noah, ¿estás emocionado? ¿Cómo te sientes?" my mom continues, her voice filled with anticipation and joy.
"¡Hola! ¡Hola! ¿Puedes escucharme?" my dad's voice booms through the phone, his excitement palpable.
"Sí, papá," I respond, trying to keep up with their rapid-fire questions.
"¿Cómo se llama el bebé?" my mom asks eagerly.
"No sabemos aún," I reply softly.
"¿Por qué no lo saben aún?"
my dad inquires, his voice tinged with confusion. "Es un poco pronto para saber si es niño o niña," I explain patiently.
"¡Ah, entiendo! ¡Es un secreto!" my mom exclaims in English, her voice full of wonder.
"¿Cómo te sientes?" my dad asks again, concern evident in his voice.
"Estoy bien," I reassure him.
"Noah, ¿puedes hablar conmigo un momento?" my mom asks softly over the phone line.
"Sí, mamá," I respond, glancing at Lucia beside me on the couch.
She gives me a reassuring smile before releasing her grip on my hand and getting up from the couch to put some distance between us.
I can tell she's relieved that our secret is finally out and that she doesn't have to hide anymore.
But at the same time, I can see the sadness lingering in her eyes from knowing that our families won't be able to meet each other until after graduation. "Noah," my mom says gently over the phone line.
"¿Sí?"
I respond softly, sensing that she wants to talk about something important.
"Estoy muy emocionada de ser abuela. Pero también estoy preocupada por ti y Lucía. ¿Estás listo para ser padre?"
"Sí, mamá, lo estoy," I reply, my voice steady but filled with uncertainty.
Lucia returns to the couch, her eyes meeting mine as she whispers, "We can do this together, Noah."
"Claro que sí," my mom interjects, her voice warm and encouraging.
"Recuerda que siempre estaré aquí para ti. Y recuerda que tu papá también. No dudes en preguntarnos nada," she continues, her words filled with love and support.
"Gracias, mamá," I respond softly, feeling a lump form in my throat.
"Te quiero," she says gently, her voice filled with warmth.
"Te quiero también," I reply, my voice cracking slightly.
"¿Noah?" my dad's voice booms through the phone line again.
"Sí, papá," I respond, trying to keep my voice steady.
"¿Puedes hablar conmigo un momento?" he asks softly.
"Sí, papá," I reply, feeling Lucia's arms wrap around my shoulders from behind.
The remnants of our breakfast—half-eaten toast and cold tea—sit on the table between us, a reminder of our interrupted morning.
When I turn to face her, Lucia's eyes are wet but filled with hope. "¿Noah?" she asks softly.
"¿Crees de verdad lo que le dijiste a tu mamá? ¿Que estás listo para ser padre?"