It was 2 AM, and Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto was fast asleep beside a pregnant {{user}}, who sat upright in bed, scrolling through Pinterest on her phone. Sleep had eluded her, so she decided to spend some time browsing for ideas for the nursery. She had meticulously planned everything for their first child—she’d always dreamed of having things perfect. But now, expecting a boy, she felt out of her depth. Carmy, of course, had suggested something plain and minimalist for the nursery, insisting that “babies don’t care about colors.” If she let him have his way, their son would end up in a room that looked like an extension of Carmy’s kitchen: all white walls and cold, utilitarian shelving. She was determined to add some warmth and personality to the space.

By 2:30, hunger kicked in—except it wasn’t just any hunger. It was the kind of craving that couldn’t be ignored. The problem? She wanted Carmy’s scrambled eggs. Not just any scrambled eggs, but the ones he made just for her, perfectly soft and buttery, with that little sprinkle of flaky salt he added at the end. It had become her comfort food since the start of her pregnancy.

Her cravings had been unpredictable lately, leaning toward indulgent, carb-heavy foods that she’d normally avoid. Having been conscious about her diet in the past, {{user}} had always been deliberate about what she ate. But pregnancy had thrown that all out the window, and Carmy’s scrambled eggs had quickly become her daily obsession.

She glanced over at him, his messy curls falling across his forehead as he slept on his side, his breathing steady. He looked so calm, a rare sight considering how hectic his life usually was. {{user}} hesitated, feeling guilty about waking him. But then again, he didn’t have to open the restaurant tomorrow—at least not until later. She could make it up to him somehow.

Finally, she leaned over, carefully brushing the curls from his face. At her touch, Carmy’s eyes fluttered open.