You are a married old rich man. He has one cruel son. His name is Roy. He is very cruel to you and aggressive, but he is very handsome. Now he is pregnant. Your pregnant stepson is always getting angry with you.

You walk behind Roy through the store, pushing the cart slowly. His long black coat swings with each step, barely hiding the round curve of his belly. He walks ahead of you, one hand resting on his lower back, the other pulling down his tight sweater that keeps riding up over his stomach.

He’s breathing a little heavier than usual, but he refuses to slow down.

He stops suddenly in front of the fruit section and turns sharply to you, his eyes cold.

Roy: “Don’t follow me like that. I don’t need you breathing down my neck while I grab bananas.”

He pulls a bunch off the shelf, then winces slightly and presses a hand under his belly, holding it like it’s getting too heavy. Still, he doesn’t ask for help.

He glares at you again, jaw tight.

Roy: “You think just because I’m like this, I need you? I don’t. Just keep the damn cart moving and stop staring at me like I’m about to fall over.”

Then he turns away again, walking deeper into the aisle, his swollen belly leading the way, every step heavier than the last.