January 3, 2025 — 8:00 AMSentinel HQ, BGC — Main Operations Floor
The year had changed, but the rhythm inside Sentinel remained relentless.
Screens glowed with progress bars and live site feeds. Analysts hunched over terminals as data flowed in from all corners of the archipelago. The Aurora Line's southern extension had officially broken ground, and Matthew was already coordinating with regional contractors. Every corridor buzzed with purpose.
Angel Cruz walked through it all like a conductor moving through an orchestra mid-performance—calm, focused, and subtly in control.
But beneath the tailored blazer and professional poise, sothing was different.
Small things.
She'd started turning down the office espresso shots.
She left etings five minutes earlier than usual.
And every so often, in the middle of reviewing procurent contracts or reviewing HR drafts, her hand would drift to her stomach without her noticing.
It wasn't a certainty yet. But it was enough.
Enough to feel the change.
Enough to quietly book an appointnt at St. Luke's.
Enough to tell herself, Don't panic. Don't assu. Just confirm.
Matthew didn't know yet.
Not because she was hiding it—but because for the first ti in her life, Angel Cruz wanted one mont to herself before sharing it with the man she trusted most.
Just one.
—
January 3, 2025 — 10:45 AMSt. Luke's dical Center — Private Diagnostic Clinic
The lights were soft. The air slled faintly of alcohol wipes and mint soap. Angel sat in the waiting room, fingers resting over her wrist, feeling the steady beat of her pulse.
She wasn't nervous. Not in the typical sense.
Just... suspended.
Like standing on a platform waiting for a train she herself designed—but not knowing when it would arrive.
Her na was called.
The test was quick.
The results weren't instant—but they were fast enough.
She stepped back into the car an hour later with a sealed envelope in her bag.
She didn't open it on the ride back.
Didn't open it in the elevator.
Didn't open it when she walked past the security desks and back into her corner office.
She only opened it after she shut the door, locked it, sat down, and exhaled.
A single word printed in clean, sterile ink:
Positive.
Angel stared at it for a long mont.
Then she pressed the envelope to her chest and closed her eyes.
It was real.
It was happening.
No schedule.
No mo.
No pre-approved tiline.
Just... life.
—
January 4, 2025 — 6:30 PMRockwell, Their Apartnt
The kitchen was filled with soft classical music. The scent of rosemary roast chicken hung in the air. Matthew moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, chopping vegetables with one hand, sipping wine with the other.
Angel sat at the dining table, her tablet open but ignored. She had looked at the screen for ten minutes and retained none of the text.
She watched him instead.
The way his sleeves were half-rolled.
The slight upward tug at the corner of his lips as he stirred the sauce.
The quiet humming under his breath.
She wanted to morize the mont.
Because in five minutes, everything would change.
She stood, approached him, and placed a hand on his back.
Matthew turned, brows lifting. "Everything okay?"
Angel's fingers trembled slightly.
She held up the envelope.
He blinked.
Then his expression shifted—first puzzled, then wide-eyed.
"You opened it?"
She nodded.
He set the spoon down.
"Angel," he said gently, "you're not—"
"I am."
A beat.
Another.
Then his arms were around her, tight, sure, grounding her like a steel frawork.
She felt his breath stutter against her hair.
When they pulled apart, Matthew's eyes were damp.
"I didn't think it'd feel this real," he said.
"Neither did I," she whispered.
He laughed, watery. "Are we… are we ready?"
"Nope," she said, wiping her eyes. "But we're in it anyway."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
Then her nose.
Then her lips.
"Together," he said.
She nodded.
"Always."
—
January 5, 2025 — 2:00 PMSentinel HQ — Executive Lounge
The lounge had always been a safe zone—a place to step out of the storm without fully leaving it. Angel sat on one of the leather couches, sipping ginger tea this ti.
No coffee. Not anymore.
Matthew sat beside her, quietly watching the construction progress updates flash across the wall monitor.
"Do you think the team will notice?" she asked, softly.
Matthew glanced at her stomach, then at her face. "Eventually."
Angel frowned. "I don't want it to beco a distraction."
"It won't."
"I just— Sentinel's still expanding. The public transit council is launching another audit in March. We're rolling out Phase 4 groundwork in Laguna. And now…"
Matthew gently took her hand.
"Now, we build two things. That's all."
Angel looked at him. "You make it sound simple."
He smiled. "It's not. But it's worth it."
She sighed. "I'll need to loop HR in. And I want to make sure my transition planning doesn't leave any gaps. If I step back later this year, the teams need clear delegation."
"You'll handle it," Matthew said, unwavering. "Like you always do."
She smiled faintly.
The words helped more than he realized.
—
January 7, 2025 — 9:00 AMSentinel HQ — Boardroom A
Angel tapped the side of her pen against the conference table, waiting for the senior team to quiet down. Most of them didn't notice anything different—she looked as sharp as always, blazer crisp, notes organized, presence commanding.
But then she spoke.
And the room shifted.
"I'll be stepping back from active site visits later this year," she said. "Soti in Q2 or early Q3. Depending on how things go."
Murmurs rippled across the boardroom.
Angel raised a hand calmly. "I'm not resigning. I'm not vanishing. But I am reprioritizing. For personal reasons."
Then she added, steady and unapologetic: "I'm expecting."
The room fell still.
Then soone clapped.
Then a second.
And by the end of it, the whole boardroom was filled with warm applause.
Not out of formality.
But celebration.
Engineer Pilar from Systems grinned. "Does this an our next transit line gets nad after a baby?"
Angel smirked. "Only if it survives my maternity leave notes."
The laughter that followed felt… good.
Light.
Grounded.
She wasn't stepping back in weakness.
She was stepping forward into sothing new.
And her team? They weren't just behind her.
They were with her.
—
January 9, 2025 — 10:15 PMRockwell — Nursery Blueprint
Matthew knelt on the floor, laying out a fresh canvas of whiteboard paper over the hardwood. Markers scattered around him, color-coded. He'd spent an hour reading ergonomic crib fra specs. Another hour asuring light angles from the window.
Angel leaned against the doorfra, amused.
"You're nesting," she said.
"No," he replied seriously, drawing clean lines. "I'm optimizing."
"Sa thing."
He pointed a blue marker at her. "Says the woman who installed blackout curtains in her second trister sketch just because the sun might interfere with 'optimal infant REM cycles.'"
Angel raised her hands. "Okay. I'll own that."
She walked over, sat cross-legged beside him, and picked up a marker of her own.
They began to draw.
Together.
Crib.
Bookshelf.
Chair by the window.
Not for reading engineering papers.
But bedti stories.
They didn't need to say anything.
Not tonight.
Not with this quiet blueprint between them—half doodles, half dream.
Because this was the beginning of a new kind of project.
Not one they could control completely.
Not one they could delay.
But one they would build together.
Piece by piece.
Heartbeat by heartbeat.
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