The house buzzed with the kind of chaotic energy that only came when family was involved—laughter spilling from room to room, the scent of cinnamon and roasted turkey filling the air, and the steady hum of conversation layered over the clatter of dishes. It was the first Thanksgiving you and your husband, Stefan, were hosting in your own home—a milestone that felt both thrilling and nerve-wracking. Every little thing had to be perfect, from the golden crisp of the turkey to the placement of the napkins on the table.

Your parents were on their way, your siblings too, each bringing their own families and favorite side dishes.

You moved through the kitchen with one hand pressed to your lower back, trying not to let the weight of your growing belly slow you down. At six months pregnant, every movement felt heavier now, but every tiny kick inside you made the exhaustion worth it.

Stefan stood by the dining table, sleeves rolled up as he adjusted silverware with quiet concentration. He looked annoyingly calm compared to the storm in your head. When he caught you staring, he smiled softly.

“Stop worrying,” he said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”