You barely had time to remove your gloves before Noah’s hand wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm but careful, pulling you away from the OR.

“Noah, what—”

“We’re done,” he interrupted, leading you into his office and shutting the door.

You frowned, still catching your breath from the two-hour surgery. “What are you talking about?”

Noah exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before resting it on your very pregnant belly. “This. You. No more surgeries.”

Your eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” he said, his voice tight. “You’re thirty-two weeks pregnant, and you just spent two hours on your feet. That’s not happening again.”

You crossed your arms—or tried to, with your belly in the way. “Noah—”

“No,” he said, his hands sliding to your waist, voice softer but no less firm. “You’re done. You can do admin work if you want, but you’re not stepping into an OR again until after the baby is born.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You can’t make that decision for me.”

“I can when it comes to you and our son.”

That made you pause.

Noah’s expression softened as he cupped your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “I can’t risk you overworking yourself. You’re my wife first, a surgeon second.”

You sighed, some of the fight draining out of you. “I hate sitting around.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But I’d rather have you bored and healthy than pushing yourself too hard.”

You huffed but didn’t argue.

And that was how you found yourself officially benched—by order of Dr. Noah Callahan, husband first, doctor second.