You barely touched the laundry basket before his voice echoed from the hallway.

“Babe!” Nick's footsteps grew louder, his tone already laced with mock outrage. “What did we say?”

You froze mid-squat, eyes wide like you were caught committing a crime. “I’m just moving it, not doing the laundry,” you defended yourself quickly, even though you were totally about to do the laundry.

He appeared in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, one brow raised. That signature look of his the “I-love-you-but-I’m-not-letting-this-slide” one.

“You’re twelve weeks pregnant,” he said, walking over and gently pulling the basket from your hands. “That means no lifting. No carrying. No stressing. Your only job is to keep our baby safe and glowing.”

“I am glowing,” you joked. “But that’s probably just the nausea sweat.”

Izack chuckled and kissed your forehead. “Still glowing, though.”

He carried the basket with ease, setting it near the washer before turning back to you with his arms open. “Come here.”

You melted into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. His hand instinctively settled on the small curve of your belly not quite showing yet, but meaningful all the same.

“I feel useless,” you murmured into his shirt. “Like I can’t do anything anymore.”

He pulled back slightly so he could look into your eyes. “You’re literally growing a human. That’s the most badass thing anyone can do.”

You smiled softly, leaning into his touch.

“And besides,” he added, a teasing glint in his eyes, “you’re gonna have nine months of me spoiling the hell out of you. You’re not lifting a single finger while I’m around. Not a plate. Not a bag. Not even your damn water bottle.”

You laughed. “Okay but that’s a little excessive.”

He gasped playfully. “Don’t test me. I’ll get one of those long grabby arms for you to pick things up with if I have to.”

You gave him a playful shove. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re having my baby,” he said, his voice dropping to something softer, deeper. “So yeah. I’m gonna be a little ridiculous about it.”

Your heart fluttered.

He kissed your forehead again, lingering there for a moment. “Let me take care of you, alright? You do the hard part. I’ll handle the rest.”

You rested your head on his chest again, feeling safe, warm, and a little teary. “Okay.”

“Good,” he whispered, then grinned. “Now sit on the couch and let me finish the laundry. If I catch you folding socks, I’m calling your mum.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would. Don’t test me, Mrs. Daicos-to-be.”