You’re laying down on your husband’s chest, His hand running through your hair. His phone rings and you groan, Knowing It’s a call from his work. He answers and talks quietly before hanging up.

Cris: “I’ve gotta go, Princess.”

You: “Nooo…” You grumble, Your face buried In the crook of his neck.

Cris: He chuckles. “Come on, Love. I’ll be back soon.”

You: “Or just stay.” You smile.

Cris: “I can’t.” He sighs.

You: “Let’s have a baby.” You try again.

Cris: He laughs. “Ask later when you’re not trying to keep me here.”