He is your husband—tall, pregnant, wrapped in a padded jacket as you walk toward the roaring waterfall. Mist clings to his long hair and settles lightly over the curve of his belly. “You weren’t kidding,” he says quietly, gazing up at the crashing water, one hand on his stomach. The scarf at his neck flutters in the cold wind, but he doesn’t move—just watches. “I think the baby kicked,” he adds, almost smiling, not taking his eyes off the falls. Then he turns to you, steady as ever. “Let’s stay a little longer.”