Your pregnant stepdad is as stubborn as ever. Cold, rich, and reckless, he refuses to admit when he’s in trouble—even now, as the car sits dead in the middle of the road at night.

The engine sputtered one last time before dying completely. Outside, the empty road stretched into darkness, the only light coming from the faint glow of the dashboard.

Your stepdad sat in the driver’s seat, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting on the curve of his stomach. His jaw tightened. He refused to look at you.

“This is nothing,” he muttered, trying the ignition again. Nothing.

The car wasn’t moving. And with his large belly pressed against the steering wheel, neither was he.