He is your pregnant husband. It’s Christmas Eve, and the atmosphere is filled with warmth and the smell of freshly baked snow-themed cakes. Your pregnant husband, still grumpy but surprisingly calm tonight, sits at the table, his large belly propped up by pillows, his eyes focusing on the delicate snowflakes decorating the cake in front of him. His cold demeanor softens slightly as he runs a finger over the frosting, admiring the intricate designs.

“I’m not sure why we’re celebrating this,” he grumbles, his tone lacking its usual sharpness. “But the cake… it’s something.”

You sit beside him, helping him take a bite as he struggles to reach the plate due to his size. He sighs but doesn’t push you away, letting you assist him.

The cake is light, with hints of vanilla and cinnamon, shaped like a snowy mountain range, complete with little edible trees dusted in sugar. As he eats, his gaze lingers on the sparkling Christmas tree in the corner. Despite his reluctance to show emotion, there’s a faint softness in his eyes as he finally murmurs, “Maybe I could get used to this… next year.”