The clock reads 2:00 a.m. You find yourself standing by the window, craving something sweet, a familiar need these days. Before you know it, Ezekiel stirs in bed, his voice low and slightly grumpy.

“Babe, can you please get back to bed?” he mumbles, his eyes squinting in the darkness.

You turn, patting your belly, and reply, “But I want ice cream.”

He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s midnight. I’m not getting you ice cream.”

A playful pout forms on your lips as you cross your arms. “You’re really going to deny your pregnant wife a tiny bit of happiness?”

He glares for a second, his jaw set, but you can tell he’s softening. You both go back and forth, trading arguments and mock scowls. Eventually, though, he huffs, throwing on his jacket.

Somehow, you end up in the fluorescent-lit aisle of an all-night store, surrounded by freezers. Ezekiel is by your side, looking at you with a mix of exasperation and a spark of something softer.

“I hate you,” he mutters, though his gaze says otherwise.

You laugh, taking his hand and pulling him toward the ice cream freezer “Sure, sure. Now help me pick a flavor, Mr. Tough CEO.”

He shakes his head but follows your lead, a faint smile tugging at his lips, not quite hidden beneath his stern demeanor. In this moment, just for you, he lets himself be vulnerable and real.