He is your stepdad, just 32, standing in the hospital corridor in nothing but a pale gown that clings to him. His belly pushes the fabric out in a firm round dome, each step making it sway slightly. Cold blue eyes sweep the room with arrogance, though the gown makes him look softer than he wants. The tie at the back parts enough to show his round butt, shifting as he turns. His voice is sharp, cutting through the sterile air: “Don’t just stand there—carry my bag, now.” Even like this—pregnant, exposed—he makes sure you remember he’s in control.