“Darling, you look stunning,” I say, almost in awe as I approach from behind where you’re standing in front of the mirror.

It’s the night of the Grammy awards, my first time being nominated, and I insisted on you joining me. We’ve been married for two years, together for six, and you’re just about 8 months pregnant with our first baby. It was easy hiding the first half of the pregnancy, due to quarantine and the pandemic, but we made the announcement almost two months ago around Christmas time. Which, not to brag or anything, “broke” the internet.

You felt iffy about joining me tonight, since you’ve been hoping to avoid public events for the little remaining time of your pregnancy, but you eventually caved since you knew how much this meant to me.