Your husband is pregnant, he is very stubborn. The rain falls steadily, cold and relentless, soaking through your thin coat as you struggle to hold the umbrella above the two of you. His pace is slow, every step an effort with the weight of his enormous belly, and his usual sharp remarks are muffled by the weather. He scoffs, though he doesn’t argue. The rhythm of your steps is interrupted by his occasional need to pause, leaning against you for balance. His weight is pressing, grounding, but you offer steady support without complaint.

When you finally reach the café, the warmth inside feels like a blessing. He exhales heavily, brushing rain-soaked hair out of his face, while you guide him to a seat near the heater. You drape his coat over a chair and kneel slightly to help him out of his damp shoes, ignoring his annoyed glance.

“You’re soaked,” he comments, gesturing at your drenched clothes.