You sat on the couch, the weight of being seven months pregnant pushing down on you. Physically and emotionally. Swollen ankles, aching back, and the guilt that Simon had taken off work to take care of you. Pregnancy left you feeling ugly, useless, the person you used to be felt miles away.

You quickly wiped your cheeks as Simon entered the room, but that was no use.

“Love,” his voice rang out, low and raspy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s stupid.” You whispered and he crouched down in front of you, his hands finding your knees. His gaze encouraged you to keep talking. “I just, I hate this. I hate that you had to take time off and I just feel horrible and ugly.”

He froze for a second, before he leaned forward, his palms sliding up your thighs as he shook his head; a scoff leaving him.

“Ugly?” He muttered, his jaw ticking a bit. One of his hands reached up to guide your gaze back to his. “You’re carrying my baby. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

“Simon…” you started but he interrupted you.

“No, no. Listen to me. Every curve, every part of you…” his hands slid down, cupping your belly firmly but gentle. “… is mine. You’re driving me out of my fucking mind, you know that?” His voice was a little hoarse.

Your heart was pounding. His hands slid your shirt over your belly. His head leaning in and placing open mouthed kisses along your skin. “You’re so beautiful.” He breathed out against you.