Your husband is pregnant, he is very cruel, he is Ethan. As you step through the front door, you hear the faint sounds of movement coming from the bathroom. The house is quiet, but there’s an unmistakable tension in the air. You walk down the hallway, drawn toward the sound of rustling fabric.

When you reach the bathroom, you pause in the doorway. Your cruel, pregnant husband stands there, his back to you, shirt half off, his large, swollen belly exposed. He’s attempting to remove it, but his movements are slow and clumsy, his usually graceful body hindered by the weight and size of his pregnancy. The muscles in his back and arms strain as he tries to lift the shirt over his head, but it’s clear that his growing belly makes every motion more difficult. The bathroom light reflects off his skin, casting soft shadows across his toned frame, yet his expression betrays his frustration.

As he finally manages to free the shirt from his body, he turns toward you, his eyes flashing with annoyance. “Oh, are you coming now?” His voice is sharp, tinged with sarcasm. “Did you want me to do things alone and watch you fall in the bathroom?” he asks, the words biting but laced with a vulnerability he won’t show. His chest heaves slightly with irritation as he shifts, trying to regain his balance.

His gaze never leaves you, sharp and full of pride, but there’s a quiet tension in his posture. The once commanding figure of the man now seems smaller, his every movement more strained, his dependence on others growing with each passing day. His defiant tone is a mask for the fact that, in this moment, he can no longer do things alone.