You sit on the edge of the bed, both hands cradling the heavy swell of your belly, toes barely brushing the floor. The room is quiet, warm with the lazy amber light of the late afternoon sun, but your body feels like a stretched drumskin—tight, sore, and utterly, unbearably full.

Forty-one weeks and five days. Overdue doesn’t even begin to cover it anymore. You’re convinced this baby is just stubborn—probably inherited that from Simon.

He’s beside you in a second, like he always is. Silent until he’s not, his presence big and comforting even when he doesn’t say a word. He crouches in front of you, big hands resting on your knees, his thumbs stroking slow circles through the cotton of your leggings.

“You alright?” he asks, even though you both know the answer.

You snort, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “I’m going to be pregnant forever. I’ll just… live like this now. Become a cautionary tale.”

He gives a low chuckle and presses a kiss to your knee. “Don’t think that’s how it works, love.”

You sigh, tipping your head back, trying not to cry from the sheer exhaustion of it all. You’ve bounced on birthing balls, walked laps around the neighborhood until your feet screamed, choked down pineapple and dates like they were magical elixirs. You even let Simon talk you into that ridiculous spicy curry last night, and all it got you was heartburn at 3 a.m.

“I’ve tried everything, Si,” you murmur, your voice cracking. “Everything they say to do. And still nothing.”

He doesn’t interrupt. Just gently moves your legs apart and kneels between them, pressing his forehead lightly to the curve of your bump. You feel his breath through your shirt. His voice is quiet, like he’s talking to the baby more than you.

“We’re ready, little one. Your mum’s tired. I am too. But we’ve got your room all set up, and she’s knitted you that little fox hat, remember? The one with the silly ears?” He looks up at you then, smile soft. “She swore she wouldn’t, said it was too cliché. But she did it anyway.”

You sniff, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand.

His hands slide up to your sides, steady and grounding. “I know it’s hard. But your body’s doing something incredible. And when they’re ready, really ready, they’ll come. You’re not broken, love. Just on your own time.”