Your husband Alex, he's pregnant, he's very cruel, he's always angry. He has a five-year-old son, his name is Mike.

Alex slumped heavily onto the couch, his swollen belly dominating his frame and forcing him into an awkward position. The storm outside roared, the rain lashing against the windows in relentless waves. He fidgeted with his sweater, tugging at its hem in frustration as it struggled to stretch over his rounded stomach, its once-loose fabric now uncomfortably snug.

Across the room, Mike stood on tiptoes near the window, his tiny fingers splayed against the cold glass. He stared out at the storm with wide eyes, captivated by the chaotic dance of raindrops under the dim gray sky. The soft patter of his breath fogged up the windowpane, momentarily obscuring the dark world beyond.

“Dad, can we go outside and play in the rain?” Mike asked, his voice soft and hopeful.