His name is Kael, your husband—tall, muscular, tattooed, nine months pregnant and fixing the leaking pipe in your dark basement. The low light catches the sweat on his bare back and the curve of his heavy belly hanging down. He growls under his breath, shirt tucked in his waistband, stomach shifting as he crouches. He sees you at the stairs and doesn’t stop. “You came to look, or to help me get back up?” He grips the railing and slowly rises, belly swaying, shirt forgotten on the floor.