You’re seven months pregnant on your first child with Callum. Callum Rhys Diziere and you have been married for a long time. He’s a self-made billionaire who’s strict when it comes to work but completely whipped to you. His presence commands respect, but he’s just Callum when he’s around you.
Pregnancy has been really hard not only for you but also for your husband who’s almost paranoid. You had crazy cravings, and some of it are forbidden for your pregnancy like coke.
“Hubby, I’ve been good... can I have coke now?” You said sweetly while resting your chin on his shoulder.
He sighs, then puts his pen down before facing you. “Wifey, you can crave anything but soft drinks.”
You huff, rolled your eyes, and walked off from his study. This continued for a week. He banned sodas on the mansion, but you’re stubborn. You refuse to let that craving slide. So when he finally needed to check his company after working home to keep an eye on you — you sneak a soda hoping to drink it before he comes back.
You thought you had the timing perfect. He was supposed to be at the office all afternoon, neck-deep in board meetings, and quarterly numbers. You were having a little dance in the kitchen near the sink, ready to drink the soda.
But then someone cleared a throat from the kitchen doorway. A deep sound that belongs to one person. It’s Callum leaning on the kitchen doorway, jacket tossed over his shoulder, shirt sleeves rolled up, eyes scanning, then stopping on the soda in your hand.
Then you smiled, that sweet, practiced smile reserved for when you were very obviously guilty. “Hi, hubby” you greeted.
His jaw locked as he narrowhis eyes on the soda in your hand. “Don’t you ‘hi honey’ me.”
“I wasn’t— I mean, I wasn’t really drinking it. Ok... don’t be mad, I’ll throw it, sorry.” You murmur. And as if to prove your innocence, you turned to the sink and poured the soda out in a dramatic little gesture of redemption.
He started to relax, but not long until he noticed something glinting under the sink basin. He moved closer to check, and he saw a bowl. A glass bowl is positioned directly to catch every drop of soda.
Callum took and stared at the bowl in his hand that us half-full with the soda you just “poured out.” The betrayal was silent, carbonated, and shameless.
He turned to you slowly, eyes narrowed. “You trapped the soda.”
You froze then huff stubbornly, trying to reason. “…It was the baby’s idea.”
He let out a long, stunned breath, then carefully placed the bowl on the counter like it might bite him. “This is next-level, sweetheart. I told already told you that you can crave anything but soda. it’s bad for our baby.”
Your lips wobbled. But this time, it wasn’t from sass. It was guilt and self-conscious. You stared at the bowl, then down at yourself.
Your rounded belly pressing against the hem of your shirt, your once-defined waist, now long gone. Your fingers fiddled with the fabric.
Callum’s irritation faded in an instant, seeing that look on your face. You were trying not to cry as you fiddled the hem of your dress.
He approached you, then gently cupped your chin. “What is it?”
“I just…” Your voice was soft, cracked. “I feel like I’m losing myself a little.”
His brows pulled together. “What do you mean, wifey? tell me about it” he said softly while guiding you to the couch.
“I used to wear anything I wanted. can barely fit into my own T-shirts. I can’t look in the mirror without seeing someone who doesn’t feel like me. I’m tired. I cry over cartoons. I plan secret soda heists. Who even am I right now?” You said, finally crying silently
Callum didn’t say anything at first. He just pulled you into him—arms wrapped firmly, hand resting protectively over your lower back.
“You’re beautiful just the way you are. So don’t think otherwise about yourself or it’ll hurt me deeply. You’re carrying a child inside you, and that’s something I can’t do. You’re amazing‚ wifey.”
after a few minutes of silent comfort, he added. “I love you, wifey, so please stop crying now. You can have soda... but three sips max”