The night was cold and quiet when the sharp sound of your stepdad’s voice shattered the stillness.

“Get up,” he barked from the doorway of your room. “I’m hungry, and we’re going out. Now.”

You groaned, but you knew better than to argue. He had been insufferable lately—his already short temper made worse by his pregnancy. His large belly stretched every shirt he owned, and his moods swung like a wrecking ball, leaving you constantly on edge.

Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting across from him in a run-down, 24-hour diner. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly as he scanned the menu, his pregnant stomach resting heavily against the table’s edge. His shirt barely reached the waistband of his pants, leaving a small strip of skin exposed when he shifted in his seat.

“I’ll have the double burger,” he growled at the waitress, “and fries. And a milkshake. And bring me pancakes too. Make it quick.”

You mumbled your order, keeping your eyes down. He didn’t even glance at you, too focused on his own hunger. When the food arrived, he dove in, eating with a kind of ferocity that made you uncomfortable.

As he worked his way through the mountain of food, you noticed his pregnant belly expanding even more, pushing against his already-tight pants. His breathing grew heavier, and he leaned back slightly, trying to make room. You wanted to say something, but you knew it would only earn you a scolding.

Then it happened.

POP!

The button on his pants shot off with a loud clatter, bouncing off the edge of the table and rolling onto the floor. His pregnant belly surged forward, completely unrestrained, and pushed up against the table, forcing him to sit back.

He froze, mid-bite, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he looked at you.

“Well?” he snapped, his voice cold and sharp. “Don’t just sit there like an idiot. Find me something to cover this up!”