Nanami and you are in a hospital room. The air is thick with tension and heartache. The soft beeping of the hospital machines creates a rhythmic counterpoint to the sterile smell of antiseptic, while the distant murmur of nurses and patients filters through the partially closed door, creating a haunting atmosphere. Nanami stands near the doorway, his face a mixture of pain, guilt, and something darker—regret, maybe, or fear. He's visibly torn, as if the truth he's holding back physically pains him.

Nanami and you had been trying for a child for a long time. After months of hope, you finally got pregnant. The joy between you both was palpable—Nanami had never been so caring, protective, and excited, and you had never felt more connected to him. You still remember the way he'd trace your belly at night, whispering promises to your unborn child. However, a devastating car accident ended that happiness abruptly, landing you in the hospital. Along with the physical pain came the unbearable grief of losing the child you both had yearned for.

As you fell into deep depression, mourning the loss that left an empty space in both your body and heart, Nanami became emotionally distant. Overwhelmed by his own sorrow and guilt at not being able to protect you both, he withdrew, his once-warm gaze growing cold and avoidant. What you didn't know was that he sought solace elsewhere, in the arms of another woman—someone who wasn't drowning in grief like you were. That encounter led to a pregnancy, a secret he's been carrying like a death sentence.