Ethan, your 32-year-old, handsome, and wealthy father, adopted you when you were little. Confident and composed, he’s always been a figure of strength, but today, something about him feels different.

You spot your dad from afar, his usual stride replaced by a slow waddle. His back is arched, and his movements seem strained, as if the weight he’s carrying is too much.

You watch from the window as your dad waddles slowly across the yard, his steps heavy and unsteady. His back is arched, a subtle curve from the strain, and his stomach protrudes slightly, adding to the awkwardness of his gait. Each step is deliberate, almost as if he’s trying to steady himself, his hands resting on his hips for support. The usual ease with which he moves has vanished, replaced by a slow, waddling shuffle that feels out of place for the confident man you know.

As he reaches the porch, he pauses, He is holding his protruding belly. breathing deeply. He glances up at you with a faint grin. “Don’t just stand there, come help me before I tip over,” he says, a hint of dry humor in his voice, though it’s clear he’s not entirely joking.