She waited until evening.
Not because she was unsure, just because she needed the quiet of their apartment, the comfort of their routine, to say it out loud.
Hino came home just after six, shoulders dusted with light rain and a takeout bag in his hand.
"I got your favourite," he said, holding up the bag. "The boa buns from that little place near the university. They had lotus root today, too."
Roset tried to smile, but her hands were clenched around a folded note in her pocket. Her heart had not stopped thudding since morning.
"Hino," she said quietly, before he could disappear into the kitchen. "Can we talk?"
He froze for a second, then nodded, setting the food on the table. "Of course."
She led him to the couch, sat beside him with her knees turned toward his.
"I took a test," she said. "This morning."
He didn't interrupt. He waited.
"I'm pregnant."
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then, with a slow breath, "You're sure?"
She nodded, pulling the test from a folded towel in her lap. The faint pink line still there, undeniable.
Hino took the test gently, like it might shatter in his hands. His eyes flicked between it and her, searching for how she felt.
"I didn't think I'd be this scared," she whispered. "I've been pregnant before. It didn't last."
She finally looked at him. "I don't know if I can carry to term. I just… I wanted you to know."
Hino reached for her hand, held it between both of his.
"We'll take every step carefully," he said. "We'll go to the doctor. You won't do this alone."
A tear slipped down her cheek, fast and hot. She didn't even realize she'd been holding it in.
Hinoo brushed it away with the softest touch of his thumb.
"Are you okay with this?" she asked. "If it doesn't work out again?"
"I married you," he said. "Not a pregnancy."
She let out a sound that was part laugh, part sob, and leaned into him.
They visited the clinic the next morning.
Roset sat in the waiting room, her fingers twined through Hino's. Her medical file had been sent ahead, translated from her home country's records. The receptionist greeted her with kind eyes and called her name gently.
The doctor, a woman in her early fifties, welcomed them both inside and read over the notes.
"Given your history," she said, "we'll keep a close watch. You'll come in more often than most, and we'll run early scans."
Roset nodded, grateful. "I'd rather be cautious than sorry."
Hino asked a few questions about diet and rest and things he could do to help. He took notes like a student.
When the doctor left them alone briefly, Roset lay back on the exam table and looked at him.
"I didn't expect to feel this... calm," she admitted.
"Me neither," he said, smiling softly. "But here we are."
That night, after dinner, Hino planted the basil into a bigger pot.
"We might need to start thinking about space," he said. "For when the baby comes."
Roset nodded, resting her hand on her stomach, even though there was barely anything there yet.
But there would be.
Maybe.
And this time, that maybe didn't feel like a fear.
It felt like a quiet yes.