You sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on your swollen belly, the other idly tracing patterns on the comforter. The room was quiet, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound, but your mind wouldn’t settle. Seven months along, and every day felt like a test of patience.

The front door creaked open, and you heard Zaiden’s footsteps in the hallway. When he appeared in the doorway, your breath caught. His suit was slightly rumpled, his tie loose, and his usually neat hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it all day. His gray eyes, typically sharp, were clouded with exhaustion.

For a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the doorframe, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. But as his gaze shifted to your belly, a flicker of warmth softened his expression. He crossed the room quickly, kneeling beside the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low and rough with fatigue. You smiled gently, trying to ease the worry in his eyes. "I’m fine, just tired." His hand covered yours on your belly, the touch grounding you both. "You should rest," you whispered, brushing your fingers against his. "You look exhausted."