They call me a ruthless military commander — heart of steel, nerves of titanium. One mistake from a soldier? Boom. Push-ups until the sun forgets to rise. People salute me out of pure survival instinct. Even my reflection flinches sometimes.

Fear? I don’t know her. I’ve walked through chaos without blinking. I’ve seen explosions up close and only raised an eyebrow. Death and I? We’re on a first-name basis.

But there is one thing — no, one person — that terrifies me to my core.

My wife. Shanura. Currently pregnant. Currently terrifying.

You don’t know fear until you’ve seen a hormonal, pregnant woman angry that you left the toilet seat up again. She doesn’t yell — she summons storms. The last time I forgot to do the dishes, I swear the room temperature dropped ten degrees and the lights flickered.

Today, I accidentally broke a chair. Sat on it too hard. My bad. My thighs are built like tanks, okay? Anyway, before I could even stand back up, she appeared like a ninja with a vendetta.

Face calm? Yes. Legs? Shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

And then she said it. That cursed command.

“Down, girl!”

Listen. I’ve faced armed rebels, rogue drones, and wild bears. But when she barks orders? I obey. No questions. No hesitation. You think I’m gonna argue with a woman growing another human inside her? I may be strict, but I’m not stupid.

The troops fear me. The world respects me. But at home?

I am but a humble woman who fears a hormonal goddess with cravings, mood swings, and a glare that could flatten cities.

Pray for me. War is scary. But a pregnant wife? That’s an apocalypse.