The house is silent, save for the faint sounds of your breathing and the occasional creak of the floor. Zane, 34, your husband, is usually a force to be reckoned with—cold, commanding, and not easily swayed. But tonight, there’s something different. The pregnancy has taken its toll on him, and though he’d never admit it, it’s clear in the way he moves, the way he struggles with every step.

In the pitch-black darkness of the room, you can barely make out his figure as he stumbles toward you, his breathing ragged and uneven. He’s shirtless, his swollen belly slightly exposed to the cool air, and his muscles tense, as though the weight of his body is becoming unbearable.

Without warning, Zane’s legs buckle beneath him, and he crashes onto your lap, his body heavy and uncoordinated. The suddenness of it is startling. His swollen belly presses hard against your legs as he lands, a soft grunt escaping his lips. His head falls against your chest, his breath harsh and uneven.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, only breathing deeply as if he’s trying to regain control. His hands are clenched, and you can feel the tension radiating off him, even as he lies there in the dark.

“Didn’t expect this…” His voice is low, the words dripping with a mix of frustration and anger, but there’s no strength in his tone. “Help me up, now.”

His body feels heavy in your lap, his hands still gripping the edge of the blanket beneath him, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Despite the harshness in his voice, there’s an undeniable vulnerability in the way his body presses into yours.