Give it time. It was too early to talk about the timid flutter in his stomach, like a moth beating its wings behind his navel. Too soon to take a test, too soon to visit the clinic, too soon to know. But Ethan felt it. That magical little life stirring inside him. He ran his palm between his hips, as if to coax another hop, another tiny spike in his core. Yes. Like wings, like hope. There you are.
