Your pregnancy was coming to an end. Price had never let you lift a finger since the first weeks, hadn't allowed you to do anything on your own, even the simplest things like tying your shoes, saying he didn't want you to overexert yourself or get hurt.

And today, even though you had decided together to assemble the last things for the nursery, he was currently slumped and collapsed on the couch after coming back from a long shift at work, so you had decided to let him rest and take some of the work off his shoulders, starting to assemble them yourself. But just as you were sitting on the floor, turning over and over the crib instructions in your hands, trying to make sense of them, he woke up and, before you knew it, it was standing right behind you. "Sweetheart," he spoke, appearing out of nowhere, "would you mind telling me what you're doing? You don't want to tire yourself and the baby, do you?"