41 | ☕Overprotective Atlas Activated ☕
Anya had never considered herself a coward. She was proud of her courage, determination, and fearlessness in the face of life's unexpected challenges. However, as she traversed this uncharted territory, she couldn't help but notice a touch of self-doubt creeping in.
For the past three days, she had been doing everything in her power to avoid Atlas.
Every morning, she woke up with an undercurrent of dread, meticulously planning her day to steer clear of him.
She arrived at the café earlier than usual, a pretence that allowed her to vanish into the comforting routine of her work, even though there was no genuine need to be there at that hour.
Each time Atlas returned home from work, she conjured up some miraculous excuse—a last-minute errand, an unexpected meeting—to keep him at bay, as if the universe itself were aligning to grant her the solitude she so desperately craved.
At night, the conflict escalated. When Atlas came to bed, his presence was as inevitable as it was overwhelming.
Desperate to hide the turmoil roiling inside her, Anya resorted to pretending to be asleep.
Yet, as she lay still in the darkness, she could feel the warmth of his arms wrapping around her, and she wasn't sure if he was merely going through the motions or if he somehow sensed the distance that had grown between them.
And, worst of all? Atlas had noticed.
Every time his sight caught her in a moment of doubt, Anya felt the weight of his attention.
His dark blue eyes, always attentive, seemed to rip through the fa?ade she had painstakingly created, studying her as if he were attempting to loosen the tangled mysteries of her brain.
Yet, he hadn't said a word about it. Not yet.
Anya chided herself silently. She knew she wasn't exactly hiding the pregnancy—she was merely delaying the reveal, buying herself precious time. That sounded much better than the grim label of 'hiding,' didn't it? It was a temporary postponement, a pause before the inevitable conversation.
It wasn't that she didn't want to tell him.
In her heart, she longed to share the news, to see his reaction and to be embraced by his reassurance.
But every time she dared to imagine Atlas' response, her mind would spiral into a whirlwind of 'what ifs.'
What if he was happy? What if his face lit up with shock?
What if panic replaced the familiar calm in his eyes?
And what if regret—a foreign and unwelcome emotion—took hold of him?
Speaking of which...
She placed a gentle hand over her belly and groaned as another wave of nausea crashed over her.
It had been creeping up slowly over the past few days, each morning bringing a little more of that unsettling queasiness.
It wasn't unbearable yet—merely an unwelcome guest—but it was definitely not fun.
The sensation was like a slow, simmering storm building up inside her, a constant reminder of the changes unfolding within.
"Ughhh..." she muttered, her voice a low, resigned sound as she slumped onto the couch, seeking a moment of respite. The fabric of the cushions offered little consolation compared to the whirlwind of emotions churning in her gut, but it was a familiar haven nonetheless.
Her eyes drifted around the room until they landed on the basket sitting on the coffee table.
There, stashed away in a quiet corner of her normally chaotic living area, sat her secret weapon—the meticulously arranged pregnancy reveal she'd painstakingly put together for Atlas.
Each item inside was picked with a mix of hope and trepidation, representing a delicate promise of the future.
Inside the basket was a little baby onesie, silky and colourful, printed with the playful words "Daddy's New Boss"—a nod to Atlas' protective nature and his upcoming role in their unexpected family.
A pair of dainty and lovely baby shoes sat next to the onesie, as if they were about to take their first steps into a new world.
A handwritten message, penned in a delicate scrawl, read, "Guess we're officially a family now," the words tinged with both delight and the painful weight of transition.
And then, as if to leave no mistake, a beautifully packaged pregnancy test completed the ensemble—a physical piece of evidence, a silent herald of what lay ahead for them both.
It was sweet. It was thoughtful. It was perfect. Every item in the basket had been carefully chosen—a modest celebration of a future neither of them had anticipated, but which now loomed with all its uncertainty and wonder.
So why did she keep stalling?
The question repeated in her head as she glanced at the basket, its silent promise of family and change contrasting with the terror she was still feeling. Before she could go into another spiral of overthinking, her phone vibrated insistently, bringing her back to the present.
A new message lit up the screen.
Atlas: Are you avoiding me?
Her heart skipped a beat. Panic surged through her veins as she stared at the screen, her thoughts racing. Oh no. Oh no. He had officially called her out. The playful teasing in his texts was now edged with something else—a genuine concern, perhaps even a trace of hurt.
Before she could muster the strength to type a response, another message popped up, sending a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over her.
Atlas: I'll be home in 20 minutes. We need to talk.
The words flashed on her screen like a ticking time bomb.
Anya let out a strangled noise, her heart lurching as she shot up from the couch.
Twenty minutes?! That was all the time she had to prepare—a mere heartbeat in the midst of a life-altering revelation.
Panic surged as she realized she needed a game plan, fast.
Step 1: Do not throw up before Atlas gets home.
Step 2: Make sure she doesn't look like she's been avoiding him all week.
Step 3: Give him the basket and pray he doesn't have a heart attack.
She mentally recited her steps over and over, each one a desperate lifeline thrown into a storm of emotions. Easy. Simple. Fool proof.
...Right?
When Atlas walked through the door, he didn't waste a single second. His stride was intentional, and his presence filled the area with such intensity that Anya's pulse tightened. Without hesitation, he rushed towards her, his gaze never leaving her as he closed the gap between them.
Anya barely had time to process the shock of his arrival before he gently took her chin in his hand, tilting her face upward so that their gazes locked.
His dark eyes, so full of unspoken emotion, bore into hers with a mixture of concern and controlled frustration.
Though Atlas could not speak, his expressive hands moved gracefully through the language of signs—a language they both understood as deeply as any spoken word.
"Anya," his sign began, the slow, deliberate movements echoing the gravity of the moment.
The silent message carried the weight of his internal struggle, every gesture measured and meaningful.
He signed again, this time adding a question that resonated with both tenderness and hurt: "Are you going to tell me why you've been avoiding me?"
For a long, agonizing minute, Anya's lips opened and closed, words failing her as she attempted to explain. Her mind raced, but her body remained still under the intensity of his silent question.
Atlas's expression softened ever so slightly, yet the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.
He exhaled through his nose, a soft but resonant sound that seemed to fill the room with his unspoken worry.
Through his sign, he conveyed, "Sweetheart, whatever it is, I'd rather you tell me than run from me."
His hands moved slowly, each gesture deliberate, as if urging her to bridge the growing chasm between them with honesty.
Her stomach flipped—not from the lingering nausea, but from the realization of the depth of her feelings.
In that charged moment, as she looked into the unwavering gaze of the man she loved, a tender truth broke through her anxiety.
God, she really did love him, even with all the fear and uncertainty swirling around her.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she swallowed hard and grabbed behind her without saying anything.
Her fingertips brushed against the chilly surface of the coffee table as she gingerly raised the basket, her movements betraying the shiver of unease that ran through her.
She held it out to him with somewhat unsteady palms, a frail offering full of hope and apprehension.
Atlas's brow furrowed as he accepted the basket, his dark eyes narrowing in concentration as he began to scan its contents.
His gaze moved deliberately from the tiny onesie to the miniature shoes, lingering on the handwritten note as if each item were a piece of an intricate puzzle he was determined to solve.
Then, his eyes settled on the neatly packaged pregnancy test.
At that moment, everything seemed to slow.
Atlas stilled completely—every muscle, every breath.
The room fell into a profound hush. For what felt like an eternity in those brief seconds, he remained utterly motionless.
Not a blink, not a sigh, nothing. In that silence, Anya could almost swear she heard the sound of his brain seizing up—the exact moment his mind went into shock at the weight of this new reality.
His eyes, normally so expressive, darted rapidly between the onesie, the shoes, the note—and finally, the test. Seconds passed. Then a minute. The silence stretched, heavy and charged with unspoken thoughts, as the truth of their shared future hung suspended in the air.
Atlas still hadn't said a word. The silence stretched out, heavy and unnerving, until Anya's nerves skyrocketed. "Atlas...?"
Still, nothing.
Panic began to claw at her insides, threatening to spiral her thoughts out of control.
Before she could let her anxiety overtake her completely, Atlas finally moved.
With a measured precision that felt almost too deliberate, he placed the basket back onto the table, setting it down as if handling fragile glass.
Then, in one swift, decisive motion, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms—tightly, urgently.