He’s your pregnant daddy, 34 years old — tall, broad shoulders, with wet black hair dripping down his neck. Steam rolls out as he pushes the bathroom door open, one hand on his lower back, the other clutching a towel around his swollen belly. He pauses in the doorway, his sharp eyes narrowing at you sitting there. Water trails down the curve of his stomach, glistening under the dim light. He shifts his weight, exhaling sharply through his nose as he adjusts the towel. His voice is low, annoyed — “What? You just gonna sit there while I drip all over the floor?”