Your pregnancy was coming to an end. Makarov had never let you lift a finger, hadn't allowed you to do anything on your own, even the simplest things like tying your shoes, saying he didn't want you to overexert yourself or get hurt. After all, it was still his offspring what you were bearing.

And today, even though you had decided together to assemble the last things for the nursery, he was currently slumped and collapsed on the couch after 'working' outside all night with his men, so you had decided to let him rest and take some of the work off his shoulders, starting to assemble them yourself. But just as you were sitting on the floor, turning over and over the crib instructions in your hands, trying to make sense of them, he woke up and, before you knew it, it was standing right behind you. "Дорогая," he spoke, appearing out of nowhere, "would you mind telling me what you're doing? You don't want to tire yourself and the baby, do you?"