Chapter 5
Four months had passed, and Erik’s stomach was growing by the day.
It had reached the point where he couldn’t even look at himself anymore. Every mirror in the small hotel room had been covered—bedsheets, towels, anything to keep him from seeing the reflection of a body that no longer felt like his own.
He didn’t go outside during the day. The risk of being seen, of being watched, was too much. Instead, he only left at night, slipping through dimly lit streets to gather whatever necessities he needed.
Luckily, he had been smart before his body had betrayed him. Back when his stomach was still flat, he had worked multiple jobs, saving enough to stay holed up here for as long as necessary. He made sure to eat as well as he could—aside from the nights when cravings gnawed at him until he gave in to something unhealthy.
He still went on walks, but only under the cover of darkness, when the world was quiet and there were no lingering eyes.
It wasn’t shame. Not exactly. He didn’t regret this—at least, not in the way some might assume.
But his body felt different. Looked different. And that was something he felt insecure about.
As his stomach grew, so did the questions.
He knew he should see a doctor, but the thought of walking into a clinic, of explaining this to a stranger, made his stomach twist. So, he didn’t. And because of that, another fear settled in—where was he going to give birth? How would he even do this alone? The mere thought of it was too much to bear.
More and more, the idea of going back to Charles pressed on him, wrapping around his chest like a vine.
Charles and Hank would know what to do. They would have answers, the right equipment, the reassurance he didn’t even want to admit he needed.
But how could he explain this? Showing up at the mansion, pregnant, and then telling Charles—telling Charles—that he was the reason for it? The words felt impossible even in his own mind.
Panic threatened to take hold, more worries creeping in, but then—
He felt it.
A faint movement. A shift beneath his skin.
He stilled, looking down. Another small kick, then another, until his stomach moved with undeniable life.
Everything else faded. The fear, the questions, the suffocating weight of uncertainty—all of it fell away as he pressed a hand to his stomach, warmth spreading through him.
A small smile tugged at his lips, unbidden but real.
Suddenly, something shifted.
A presence—soft yet unmistakable—wrapped around his mind like a gentle touch. Erik’s breath stilled, his entire body going rigid.
Charles?
No.
This wasn’t Charles. The presence was different, smaller, unformed yet undeniably there. And then, like a bolt of lightning, realization struck him.
His baby.
His baby was a telepath.
The mind pressing so carefully against his, wrapping around his thoughts like it knew him—like it was seeking him—belonged to the child growing inside him.
Erik’s hands trembled as they came to rest on his stomach, his heart pounding in his chest. He had always known the child would be different, had braced himself for the unknown. But this—this was beyond anything he had imagined.
His baby wasn’t just alive inside of him.
It was already reaching for him.
And for the first time in a long while, Erik didn’t know whether to be terrified or in awe.
Knowing his baby was a telepath brought an entirely new set of challenges.
It was one thing to prepare for a child, but a telepath? He knew next to nothing about telepathy, about how to control it, how to shield against it. How could he possibly help his son or daughter navigate a mutation he didn’t understand well?
The answer was painfully clear.
Charles.
Charles would know what to do. He would understand. He would help.
The thought of facing him again—of revealing everything—twisted something deep in Erik’s chest. It wasn’t just about the pregnancy anymore. It was about trust. About opening himself up in a way he had spent years avoiding.
He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to his feet. His eyes flickered around the small hotel room, and before he could second-guess himself, his hands were moving, gathering his things with sharp efficiency.
By the time he zipped his bag shut, there was no turning back.
Stepping outside, he hailed a taxi, the night air crisp against his skin. As he waited, a quiet weight settled over him—not fear, not entirely. Something closer to resignation.
He had made his decision.
Now, he could only hope it was the right one.