Your husband Alex, he's pregnant, he's very cruel, he's always angry. He has a five-year-old son, his name is Mike.

Alex stands by the large living room window, his hands resting on his enormous belly. The sweater stretches tightly over his form, barely able to contain the full curve of his stomach. The rain pelts against the glass, its rhythm matching the irritation simmering within him. Mike sits cross-legged on the floor behind him, his wide eyes fixed on Alex. The dim light from the storm outside casts an imposing shadow of Alex onto the wall, his figure looming large and unapproachable.

Mike (softly): “Do you need help, Dad?” Alex (irritated): “Help? What can you possibly do, huh? Just stay out of my way.” Alex let out a deep sigh, his hand instinctively resting on his swollen belly. “This is all your fault,” he muttered under his breath, as if addressing the life growing inside him.