DO NOT COPY
You were seven months along when Noriel started insisting on wearing the pregnancy simulator vest.
At first, you thought he was joking. You had walked into the room one afternoon to find him standing in front of the mirror, wearing the ridiculous contraption — a weighted belly strapped over his shirt, complete with tiny cartoon bear faces printed across it. He looked both adorable and miserable, frowning as he tried to adjust the straps.
“Noriel,” you said, struggling not to laugh, “what in the world are you doing?”
He looked over his shoulder, pretending to look serious. “Practicing.”
“For what?” you teased, crossing your arms, your swollen belly rounding gently beneath your red cotton dress.
“For empathy,” he said flatly — but his ears were already turning pink. “You’re carrying our baby, cuore. It’s only fair I understand at least a little of what that feels like.”
You shook your head, smiling as you sat on the edge of the bed. “You really don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He shot you a look that was soft and firm all at once. “I hate that I can’t help you with this part.”
And that was Noriel — your husband, the man who’d always taken care of you like it was his second nature. He’d massage your swollen feet after long days, wake up in the middle of the night to fetch whatever strange snack your cravings demanded, and now, apparently, simulate pregnancy just to feel closer to you.
But as endearing as it was… the poor man didn’t last long.
By evening, he was sprawled across the bed, the fake belly pressing into the mattress, one arm flung over his face. You sat beside him, amused as you watched him groan dramatically into the pillow.
“Are you okay, my brave husband?” you asked, barely hiding your laugh.
“Don’t,” he muttered weakly, his voice muffled. “I can’t even roll over without feeling like I’ll explode.”
You giggled softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Now you know what I’ve been feeling for months.”
He peeked up at you through his fingers, his expression somewhere between admiration and defeat. “How do you make it look so graceful?”
You smiled. “I don’t. You’re just blinded by love.”
Noriel chuckled, the sound warm and tired. His eyes softened as he looked at you, taking in the sight of you sitting there — your hand resting gently on your belly, your skin glowing under the lamplight. For a moment, his playful smirk faded into something quieter, deeper.
“I wish I could carry it for you,” he said softly.
Your chest tightened. “Noriel”
He reached up, brushing your fingers. “I mean it. I’d take the pain, the sleepless nights, all of it — just to make it easier for you.”
You felt your eyes sting as you leaned down, pressing your forehead against his. “You already make it easier,” you whispered. “Just being here. Just loving us like this.”
He smiled then, small and tired, his eyes glimmering with tenderness. “Then I’ll keep wearing this stupid thing,” he murmured, “until the baby’s out.”
Even if it meant pretending to be pregnant just to understand your world a little better.