Idris Point of View

They say when life hits you with big news, you either fight, flee, or freeze.

I invented a new category: fuzz out of existence for two business days.

Just... brain fog so thick I might as well have been wandering through a sentient cloud with a clipboard asking me about my feelings every ten minutes.

I didn't scream.

I didn't cry.

I just... ceased all higher brain function like someone unplugged the mainframe and replaced it with elevator music.

No thoughts. No processing. Just this vague, hovering static in my head — like my mind had queued up the thought "You're going to be a father" and then refused to load the rest of the document.

And nothing is working inside my brain. Why?

Because... I'm going to be a father.

Let me say that again.

I. Am. Going. To. Be. A. Father.

Father. Papa. Dad. Dada. Baba.

Caretaker of a tiny squishy soul-pod who may or may not be my reincarnated father-in-law.

What is my life.

What is my life?

Am I okay? I don't think I'm okay.

Is this how brains melt?

Is this how a person unravels? Not with a bang, but with a confused blink and a soft "wait, what?"

I didn't even notice I'd wandered into the kitchen until I found myself standing in front of the refrigerator, door wide open, just... staring. Not at anything in particular. Just letting the cold air hit my face like it could freeze the overwhelming out of me.

A jar of pickles stared back.

For a second, I felt like it was judging me.

And honestly? Fair.

My thoughts were running wild in opposite directions — half of them screaming about cribs and diapers, the other half muttering about cosmic karma and soul timelines.

One part of my brain was already building the spreadsheet –

Buy prenatal vitamins. Hire top-tier paediatrician. Install discreet security enchantments Demon girl won't notice. Interview private tutors for eventual early curriculum.

The other part was murmuring –

Father-in-law, now son!

Would it really be him?

And that's when the real worry set in.

What if it's not him?

What if the glowing ancestor lady was just being symbolic?

What if "He has entered your womb" was more of a spiritual vibe than an actual reincarnation announcement?

What if it's not Demon girl's father at all?

What if it's just a soul. A soul with no special connection, no cosmic callback, just... a random new human, and we're all here preparing for an ancestral encore that never arrives?

Or worse...

What if it is him?

What if this child is born with the essence of Demon girl's father?

Will he remember her? Will he remember me?

Will I need to re-earn the approval of a man I already married his daughter?

Do I shake his hand at kindergarten orientation?

Do I call him "sir" while burping him?

Am I still the son-in-law? Or just the guy who's now responsible for teaching him how to walk and not lick electrical outlets?

These are not standard parenting concerns.

There are no Harvard Business Review articles titled "Raising Your Reincarnated In-Law: Leadership in the Age of Cosmic Family Loops."

Heck! Will he be my son or my father-in-law?

Should he call me dad or should I call him dad?

My God! Why is this so confusing and despairing?

I checked my pulse and found it steady. My breathing was even.

My mind? Somewhere between drafting a parenting philosophy and questioning the karmic fairness of this entire setup.

I'm still functional. Just deeply, dimensionally confused right now.

No, no, no.

Why am I even being worried before he is even born?

I need to make sure my child will have nothing to do with metaphysics. He should be a man of science and a lady of reason.

Uh huh - ladies are known to be unreasonable. So, if it is a daughter, then let her be scientifically unreasonable.

Yes, that's better.

Why am I even worrying about metaphysical family trees before the baby's even born?

I need a plan. A clear, concrete, data-driven plan.

For the next two days, I retreated into my natural habitat, which is strategizing.

I sat at my desk, armed with a fresh notebook, a steaming cup of coffee, and my phone loaded with parenting podcasts (because apparently that's a thing now). I began to build a blueprint for a future where my child would be anchored firmly in reality — or at least the version of reality that comes with a solid grasp of the scientific method.

First item on the agenda:

"Raise a critical thinker."

If I could install one mental app in this kid, it would be skepticism.exe. No ghost stories at bedtime unless accompanied by a thorough discussion of confirmation bias and the placebo effect. I'd make sure my child learns to ask, "Where's the data?" before accepting anything, even from great-aunt spirit guides.

Second:

"Early exposure to technology."

Forget magic wands — I want this kid to wield a microscope and build a robot by age five. Demon girl's cloud-stitched onesies might be adorable, but I'm investing in coding lessons, robotics kits, and "Why does the sky really look blue?" experiments. There will be no room for superstition to sneak in when your bedtime story is a documentary narrated by David Attenborough.

Third:

"Encourage logic over luck."

I'd teach probability and statistics before candy counting. Dice rolls instead of crystal balls. Because, frankly, if fate had a CEO, it'd have quarterly reports and KPIs, not tarot cards and tea leaves.

Fourth:

"Create a safe space for questions."

No judgment if my child asks, "Why does grandma talk to invisible ancestors?" But also, no avoidance of the why behind those beliefs. I want an open dialogue where curiosity meets reason, not a battleground for 'science vs. spirits.'

Fifth:

"Medical literacy is non-negotiable."

Prenatal care, vaccinations, nutrition — I'd be on top of all of it. No room for myths or "natural cures" that belong in a museum next to the astrolabe. I'd have my kid asking doctors questions that would make even seasoned physicians grin.

I scribbled furiously, toggling between practical action points and philosophical musings.

"Remember to teach patience — science takes time."

"Balance emotional intelligence with intellectual rigor."

"Be the calm in the cosmic storm."

Because I knew this wouldn't be easy. Not just because of the whole reincarnated father-in-law thing. But because the world Demon girl lives in is woven with spirits, history, and magic. And the world I've built — and want for my kid — runs on data, logic, and innovation.

Somewhere in that mix, I needed to find harmony.

But one thing was clear; this child would be raised with reason, integrity, and a healthy skepticism that could cut through any mystical fog.

And if that meant giving up on enchanted onesies and ghostly lullabies, so be it.

At least until the kid's old enough to decide if they want to believe in cloud spirits or just the science of cotton fibers.

I was just settling into this new CEO-of-Reason mindset when suddenly— bam—the house erupted into a cacophony of sounds. Voices, laughter, footsteps, the distant clatter of what I assumed was someone attempting to assemble furniture without instructions.

For a moment, I was baffled. Since when was this place so loud? Had the walls suddenly grown ears and mouths overnight? Then it hit me — this had been going on for days.

I had been so zoned out, so lost in my own head, that I hadn't actually heard any of it.

And now, emerging from that quiet bubble of strategic solitude, I was assaulted by the undeniable truth: my life had just gotten infinitely more chaotic.

Just as I started wondering if the universe was trying to drown me in the noise of my own house, the front door burst open like it owed someone money.

Dad marched in like he was still in charge of my entire life. Behind him came Cyrus — Kaiya's husband, full-time snark dispenser and part-time meddler in everyone's emotional business.

"Idris!" Dad barked. "Are you out of your mind, or just really committed to acting like a robot?"

I blinked. "Hi, Dad."

"Don't 'Hi, Dad' me," he shot back, already pointing at me like I was a teenage boy who forgot to mow the lawn. "Your wife is pregnant. Pregnant, Idris! And you've been walking around here like you're developing an AI, not becoming a father."

Cyrus jumped in, shaking his head. "Man, I mean—seriously. You didn't say anything to Zephyra? Not even a 'congrats to us'? No back rub, no ice cream run, not even a 'how are you feeling'? You really just pulled a full emotional shutdown?"

I raised my hands defensively. "Okay, look—I was overwhelmed. Processing. Strategizing. Trying to make sure I don't mess this up."

Dad scoffed. "Strategizing? You think she needed a PowerPoint? She needed you to smile and say, 'I'm happy we're having a baby.' That's it. No charts required."

"She waited, man," Cyrus said, more gently this time. "Waited for you to say something. You don't get it, she was excited. And you were over here doing your best impression of a haunted chair."

"I didn't mean to ignore her," I muttered. "I just... I wanted to make sure I reacted the right way."

Dad sighed and dropped onto the couch. "The right way, son, is just being there. Show up. Be real. You're allowed to be shocked — hell, we all were — but don't shut her out."

Cyrus flopped beside him. "Zephyra's tough, yeah. But she still wanted to hear it from you. A 'we got this.' A little joy. Maybe some tears. You know. Human stuff."

I ran a hand through my hair, guilt knotting in my chest now that the fog was clearing.

"Okay," I said quietly. "Okay. You're right. I messed up. I'll fix it."

Dad pointed a finger at me again. "You better. That woman loves you like crazy. And she's growing a human. That's at least worth a foot massage and a love note."

Cyrus grinned. "And maybe buy her something shiny. Pregnant women love shiny. Or snacks. Or both."

I nodded, already standing. My plan to raise a scientifically literate, logic-first child was solid. But before that, I needed to go be a decent husband. Because all the planning in the world meant nothing if I wasn't showing up for the person carrying the future I was planning so hard for.

Time to find Demon girl. And say what I should've said days ago.

Tell her 'We got this'.

And tell myself 'You will be alright'.

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Hello Sweeties,

Next chapter is here. Enjoy!

What do you think about the chapter? Boring?

Idris is seriously in a strange crisis. Isn't he?

Will he be able to really transform his child as he wished?

Will Zephyra and the family accept and agree to it?

Please shower me with votes and comments.

Share my books with your friends.

Lots of Love

Lady Prim