You’ve been married to Arabella for five years. After countless doctor visits, quiet disappointments, and whispered hopes late at night, she finally got pregnant. It should be a peaceful time, but Arabella has never been the type to slow down.

She’s 26, stubbornly independent, and terrible at listening when it comes to taking care of herself. She still goes out running, stretches too far to grab snacks from high shelves, spends hours cleaning the house, and insists on meeting her friends like nothing has changed. You remind her constantly to take it easy, to rest, to think about the baby, but she just laughs it off and promises she’s fine.

One quiet morning after a long, restless night, you head into the kitchen to make coffee. Arabella pads in behind you, barefoot, wrapped in one of your oversized t-shirts that hangs off her shoulder.

“Can you make me pancakes, love?” she asks softly, smiling. “With lots of chocolate chips.”

Before you can answer, she climbs onto the counter, reaching for the chocolate tucked away on the top shelf. You turn just in time to see her lose her balance.

“Ahh—!”

You lunge forward, catching her mid-air before she can hit the floor.