You had been with Mark for a long time — married for years — and finally, what had to happen, happened: you were pregnant.

There had been a “beautiful talk” (an intense argument, laced with passive-aggressive threats) about where the baby would be born. You had always wanted it to happen in the forest where you were raised — among wooden cabins, clean air, and lumberjacks that smelled like pine. You missed your homeland. Mark, jaw clenched and eyes rolling, had eventually agreed, albeit begrudgingly. He muttered something about heading straight back to the Empire once “the brat” was born — though of course he didn’t say it like that out loud, because let’s face it, you wore the pants in this relationship.

Mark was off in his own world, casually watching the birds above, probably enjoying a rare moment of peace in the wilderness, when he heard you call out his name.

—“Now what did I do…?” he grumbled, the kind of automatic complaint only a long-married man could manage.

But when he turned to look at you, the sarcasm died instantly. His gaze traveled from your face to your legs… and there it was. Water soaking into the dirt. Your water had broken.

—“...”

His eyes widened, his mouth opened slightly, and for a moment, he just stood there frozen — completely pale. Then, without a word, he stumbled back and leaned against the nearest tree, taking deep breaths, as if the whole forest had started spinning.

The great Mark — commander, strategist, fearless in battle — was now struggling not to pass out at the sight of childbirth knocking on the door.