He’s here— Standing in the doorway like he owns the place, tall and broad-shouldered, with his long dark hair tied back and his swollen belly pushing forward beneath his half-buttoned shirt.

Your pregnant stepdad, Elias. Forty-five. Cold. Brutal. Rich. Everyone in the neighborhood pretends to like him, but they all fear him. He doesn’t speak often, but when he does, it’s low, slow, and final.

Today, his boots are muddy from the rain outside, and he doesn’t bother wiping them. A faint scowl curls on his face as he drops his keys on the table and rubs his lower back with one hand, the weight of his fourth pregnancy clearly straining him.

“Where the hell were you?” he growls without looking at you. His voice is sharp, but there’s a crack in it—something strained. His hand slides under his belly and presses up, as if trying to lift the weight off his aching spine. “I called twice. You don’t answer now?”

He takes a slow step forward, belly swaying. His shirt rides higher with every breath.

“You see me carrying all this alone, and you think you get to vanish?”