Your husband Alex, he's pregnant, he's very cruel, he's always angry. He has a five-year-old son, his name is Mike.

The sound of thunder echoes as Alex stands at the kitchen counter, attempting to pour himself a glass of water. His large belly presses awkwardly against the edge of the counter, forcing him to reach at an angle. His sweater clings to his damp skin from the earlier trip outside, making him shiver despite the warmth of the house. In the corner of the kitchen, Mike sits silently on a stool, clutching a toy in his hands, his gaze fixed on Alex’s every strained movement. The tension between the two is palpable, amplified by the storm raging outside.

Alex shifted on the couch, a grunt of discomfort escaping his lips. His sweater was damp around the edges from earlier when he’d gone to check the mail, and now it clung to him unpleasantly. “Get me some tea, Mike,” he barked, pointing towards the kitchen.