You have a cruel pregnant husband. The rain poured down in relentless sheets, the deafening sound drowning out nearly everything else. You stood at the doorway, watching as your furious, heavily pregnant boyfriend struggled with the umbrella, his enormous belly making every movement an awkward ordeal. His usual scowl was darker than ever, his drenched hair plastered to his forehead.

The car sat a few feet away, its windshield already blurred with rain, but there was no way he’d make it there without help. His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he’d give up and come inside. Instead, he pointed toward the car, his jaw set stubbornly. “Move. I don’t need your pity or your help.”