The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason’s POV

You know those mornings when you wake up and everything feels a little too calm? That’s how the day started. I should’ve known peace was just an illusion.

I was in the bedroom, trying to zip up Ella’s hospital go-bag while she supervised from the bed like a cranky, pregnant CEO.

"Jason, did you pack my snack bars?" she asked, voice sharp as ever.

"Yes," I replied.

"The mango ones?"

I froze. "...They were out of mango. I got blueberry."

"Blueberry? Jason!" she groaned like I’d personally offended the child growing inside her. "That baby only likes mango!"

I opened my mouth to argue, then wisely shut it. Arguing with pregnant Ella was like poking a sleeping dragon and asking it not to breathe fire.

At that exact moment, she dropped the TV remote and stared at it helplessly.

"Get that."

"It’s literally right next to you."

"I can’t bend, Jason! My belly is in the way. Do you want me to fall over and squash your child?"

I rushed to grab it. "Nope. Absolutely not. Remote secured."

She gave me a smug little nod. "That’s what I thought."

The doorbell rang, giving me the perfect excuse to escape the third degree. I opened it to find Max and Dylan standing there with matching grins and iced coffee.

"Hey, Dad," Max teased. "How’s life in hormone hell?"

"Shut up and come in," I muttered, stepping aside.

They barely got past the hallway before Ella spotted them. She had got out form the bed. Thank God.

Dylan trailed in behind him, holding a box of donuts and a smoothie cup. "We brought gifts! For the queen!"

"Oh God, not you two again," she groaned. "What do you even do all day?"

"Annoy you," Dylan said brightly, handing her a paper bag. "We brought snacks!"

Ella peeked inside and gasped. "Chocolate-covered strawberries?"

"Only the best for the dragon queen," Max added with a bow.

She rolled her eyes but smiled, munching happily. "Fine. You can stay five minutes. Jason and I are going for our prenatal class."

"Ooh," Dylan perked up. "Can we come?"

"No," Ella said instantly.

"Pleeeaaase?" Max whined. "We want to see what you’ll be learning. And we promise not to cause chaos."

"No," Ella said.

"Please?"

"No."

"We’ll behave!"

"I don’t trust you to behave at a funeral, let alone in front of a screen showing women giving birth."

"Come on," I said. "Let them come. It might scare them into celibacy. Or into finding a hobby other than showing up here every day."

I gave her a look, silently asking if she was okay with it.

She sighed dramatically. "If you faint, I’m not helping you."

"I won’t faint," Max said with confidence.

He would definitely faint.

I warned them both, "You’re coming, you’re staying the whole thing. No bailing halfway through."

"Deal!" they said in unison.

The ride to the class was surprisingly peaceful. Ella was humming to the radio, Max was busy filming a TikTok video, and Dylan was reading random pregnancy facts aloud.

"Did you know some women poop during labor?" he read from his phone.

"So what do you think it’s like?" Dylan asked.

"I bet the baby just slides out," Max said.

Ella turned to glare at them. "Slides. Out?"

"Like in the movies. You know, lady yells, water breaks, cut to happy baby being cuddled."

I could feel the blood drain from Ella’s face.

Ella glared at him through the rearview mirror. "I swear to God, Max, if you keep talking, I’ll shove that phone down your throat."

He shut up instantly.

We pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, where the class was held. The building looked pleasant enough, like a spa or a yoga studio. You’d never guess the horrors it contained.

Inside, we found seats in the third row. Couples were scattered around us—some holding hands, others nervously sipping water. The instructor, a cheerful woman named Linda, welcomed us with a glowing smile.

"Today," she said, "we’re watching a beautiful, educational video about the birthing process."

Beautiful, my ass.

The lights dimmed. The screen lit up. Cue peaceful music and a heavily pregnant woman breathing deeply in a hospital gown.

"She looks calm," Max whispered. "This’ll be sweet."

A narrator describing the joy of impending parenthood.

Dylan leaned in and whispered, "This ain’t so bad."

Then the screaming started.

"Oh my God," Dylan muttered, already pale. "Is she being murdered?!"

Ella stared wide-eyed. "Is that what I’m going to sound like?"

The woman on screen grabbed her husband’s shirt and roared at him, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU USELESS TOE-RAG!"

Max shrieked and ducked lower in his seat.

The next scene showed the woman’s legs spread wide as the doctor calmly announced that they needed to "perform a small episiotomy."

"What’s that?" Dylan asked.

Then came the snip.

Max gagged. "WHAT ARE THEY CUTTING? WHAT ARE THEY CUTTING?!"

"It’s her—oh my god," Dylan wheezed, covering his mouth.

Ella started crying quietly beside me. I reached for her hand and squeezed it, my own stomach doing somersaults. The woman birth carnal was small so they had to increase the size.

And then the baby came out. Blood, slime, and all.

Max screamed like he was watching a horror movie. Dylan made a noise like he was choking on a balloon.

"Why is it so mushy?" Max cried. "It looks like an alien!"

Ella sobbed harder. "I can’t do this. I can’t. That’s gonna be me!"

I wrapped my arms around her protectively, guilt flooding every corner of me. This was what she would go through for us. For our baby. And I’d done this to her. I did this.

I kissed her forehead. "I’m sorry."

"For what?" she sniffed.

"For everything. For the mango bars. For getting you pregnant. For existing with functional sperm."

She gave a wet little laugh through her tears. "Idiot."

On screen, the baby was now wailing while the mom was passed out and the dad was crying.

Max slumped in his chair. "I never want to have sex again."

Dylan was frozen. "I’m traumatized. I need therapy. Maybe two."

The lights came back on. Linda smiled. "Any questions?"

Max raised his hand weakly. "Do they sell adult diapers for men? Just in case?"

The room burst into laughter, but I couldn’t find it in me to smile. I was still holding Ella’s hand like a lifeline, heart thudding hard against my chest.

One thing was clear—labor was no joke.

And I would walk through fire if it meant she didn’t have to go through it.