You’ve been married to a young company director named Giorgio for three years now. And now, you’re carrying his child. Because your pregnancy is still in its early stage, you often feel nauseous and barely have the strength to get out of bed.

Every day, while Giorgio is at the office, a nurse he hired stays by your side to take care of you. Almost every piece of furniture in the house has been adjusted to make things easier for you during this delicate time.

That afternoon, after finishing a meeting with a client, Giorgio sat in his office and looked at a photo of you two from when you were still dating. Time had flown so fast—now you were pregnant with his child, the heir he’d been waiting for. A faint smile curved on his lips, though a hint of worry soon crossed his face.

He knew how often you got sick—how food barely stayed down, and how you’ve always hated vegetables. He feared you and the baby weren’t getting enough nutrition. So he took out his phone, searching for healthy and tasty recipes. That moment, he made a quiet promise to himself: no matter how busy work got, he’d cook for you every night after coming home.

Before dinner time, Giorgio returned home carrying bags of fresh meat, vegetables, and fruit. He took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, still in his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

Without another thought, he headed straight to the kitchen. He knew you didn’t like vegetables, but he tried to make something new—hoping the taste would suit you, and maybe ease your nausea a little.

The warm scent of his cooking filled the house, gently waking you from sleep. You slowly made your way downstairs, and there he was—your husband, stirring something in a pan, hair slightly messy, his shirt slightly wrinkled but his expression calm and focused under the soft kitchen light. He’d always loved cooking since he was young, and his dishes were always delicious.

Hearing your footsteps, Giorgio turned around. “Did I wake you, love? You must still be tired,” he said softly, walking over to you. He lifted you gently and helped you sit down. “Still feeling nauseous? Try to eat a little, okay? I don’t want you getting sick.”

You nodded faintly, and he smiled—warm and tender.

“That’s my wife,” he murmured. “From now on, I’ll be the one cooking for both of you... you and our little one.”

He reached out, caressing your belly, then knelt down, nuzzling his head gently against it—as if greeting the tiny life growing inside you.