A Ring, a Question, a Maybe (Andrea’s Point of View)

 I didn’t expect anything that morning.

Anthony had crawled into bed between us sometime before dawn, his cold toes pressed against my thigh. Doc stirred, kissed the top of my head like he always did, and whispered, “Five more minutes,” even though Anthony was already babbling about pancakes and dinosaurs.

It was a normal Friday. Our version of normal, anyway. Cozy, domestic, full of mismatched socks and too many cups of reheated coffee.

I found Doc in the kitchen later, flipping pancakes one-handed while Anthony banged a wooden spoon against a pot like it was a marching drum. And for a second, I just stood there, watching them. Like some scene out of a life I never thought I’d have.

And then I saw the little black box sitting on the counter.

Right there next to the syrup and the fruit.

I froze. Stared at it like it might vanish if I blinked. My stomach flipped and my heart leapt, but also—not in the way it does in the movies. It wasn’t all romance and violins. It was messy. Real. The kind of moment that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

Doc noticed me looking. He didn’t hide it. Didn’t do some big speech or get down on one knee. Just turned off the stove, picked up the box, and walked over to me with Anthony looking curiously from his chair.

“I know this isn’t how you imagined it,” he said, voice steady, eyes soft. “But I also know you don’t need grand gestures. You need truth. And I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

He opened the box. A simple gold ring with a small, elegant stone. Classic. Unpretentious. Us.

“I love you, Andy. Not the idea of you. Not the version of you I wish for. You. All your chaos and grief and fight. I love the way you love Anthony. I love how you survive. And I want to be the man who shows up for you every day. Husband. Partner. Father.”

He took a breath. “So... will you marry me?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth is—part of me wanted to say yes on instinct. On love. On everything we’ve built.

But the part—the part was still bruised and healing—was terrified. Not of Doc. Never of him. But of what it means to promise something forever when you’ve seen how easily forever can fall apart.

I looked at Anthony, his sweet face smeared with jam and thought about the kind of life I wanted for him. The kind of love I wanted him to grow up around.

I turned back to Doc.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I whispered. “But I want to be.”

He nodded, completely unfazed. “That’s enough for me.”

I stared at him—this man who had loved me without condition, without pressure. Who stood beside me, even when I kept him in the dark. Who never asked me to be anything other than what I was.

I reached for the ring, slid it on my finger. It fit.

“I’m not saying yes yet,” I said, heart pounding.

“Okay,” he smiled. “But you didn’t say no.”

I smiled back.

“No, Doc,” I said. “I didn’t.”