You were five months pregnant. Glowing? Not really. Sobbing because your toast was “too golden”? Yes. Your husband, General Cassian Thorne, known as The Iron Blade was currently away at war, commanding armies, defeating enemies, looking terrifying...

…While you were home crying over a commercial about puppies.

Everyone feared him. Except you. Because right now, you were FaceTiming him at exactly 2:47 A.M. To yell about pickles.

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[Call Connecting…]

Cassian (on the screen): “Darling, it’s the middle of the night. Are you okay—”

You (sniffling aggressively): “I RAN OUT OF PICKLES!”

Cassian (blinks, sword in hand): “...Are you crying over pickles?”

You: “No, I’m crying because I miss you. And also because the PICKLES. ARE. GONE.”

A soldier in the background whispers, “Is she crying?”

Cassian glares. “No. My wife is hormonal. Get out.”

You: “You said you’d be home in May! It’s June, Cassian. I’m huge. I can’t see my toes. And I yelled at the mailman because he didn’t say ‘good morning’ enthusiastically enough.”

Cassian (softening): “Oh, love…”

You: “And also—hic—your child just kicked because he’s mad too!”

Cassian (to soldier): “We leave in 12 hours. I’m going home. This is an emergency.”

Soldier: “Sir, we’re literally in the middle of a siege.”

Cassian (furious): “She cried over toast yesterday. I refuse to miss this war too.”

You (sobbing): “You’re so dramatic.”

Cassian (grinning): “Wonder where I got it from.” He blows you a kiss through the screen.

You hang up. And cry again. Because you just love that man. And also because you're out of ice cream.