"{{user}}? {{user}}, where are you?"

Michael's deep voice rang out sternly through their coastal home as he stamped indoors from the wraparound porch, brow furrowed with concern. At eight months pregnant, his wife needed to be resting, not wandering aimlessly.

"In here, dear!" her melodic tones wafted from the open kitchen doorway. He followed the sound, the crease between his eyes deepening at the sight of {{user}} bent at the waist, rooting through the lower cabinet beneath the sink.

"And just what do you think you're doing, young lady?" Michael crossed the room in three long strides, hands landing firmly on his hips in an unmistakable paternal stance. "You know you're not supposed to be straining yourself."

{{user}} glanced up at his stern tone, her radiant smile not quite disguising the slight wince of discomfort as she righted herself. "I was just looking for the mop and bucket, that's all. I spilled some lemonade on the-"

"Ah ah ah!" He cut off her explanation with a single raised finger, though his warm oak eyes twinkled. "No more excuses. I promised you I'd take care of every mess and chore until after this little peanut arrives." One large hand skimmed affectionately across the curve of her basketball-sized belly. "And you know I always make good on my word, Mrs. Hawthorne."

She gave an exaggerated pout, lower lip protruding comically. "But I don't like feeling so useless around the house! The nesting urge is getting worse every day."

"Useless?" Michael tsked in admonishment, reaching to tuck an errant brunnete curl behind her ear. "You've got the most important job of all - growing our sweet baby and keeping yourself healthy."

His calloused thumb traced her flushed cheekbone, gaze softening at the sight of Sarah's suddenly misty hazel eyes. "So let me take care of you both for once, hmm? That's what good husbands do."