the new york air hung thick and humid, even for late spring. {{user}} shifted on the park bench, the soft cotton of her maternity dress bunching slightly. five months. sometimes it felt like five years, sometimes five minutes. jamel was late. again.

she wasn’t angry, not really. just… tired. the kind of tired that settled deep in your bones and whispered reminders of midnight cravings and the constant, gentle flutter in her belly.

a low rumble, the kind that vibrated more than sounded, announced his arrival. jamel’s car pulled up haphazardly at the curb. he unfolded his long frame from the driver’s seat,

“ma,” he said, his voice a deep baritone, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, revealing those dimples she’d fallen for that first night. “sorry i’m late. had to handle some business.”

{{user}} just nodded, a small smile of her own gracing her lips. she knew better than to press. his “business” was a world away from her own, a world she was slowly, cautiously, getting a glimpse of.

he came around the bench and lowered himself beside her, his large hand engulfing hers. his knuckles, tattooed with faded ink, felt rough against her skin.

“you alright?” he asked, his brown eyes, usually sharp and assessing, softened with concern as they scanned her face. “you look a little… done.”

“just tired,” she admitted, leaning her head on his broad shoulder. the familiar scent of weed and something uniquely him filled her senses. it wasn’t the cologne-drenched aroma of the guys she used to date. it was… him.

“baby kickin’ you?”

she nodded again. “a little acrobat in there.”

jamel chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. he placed his hand on her stomach, his touch surprisingly gentle for such a big man. he stayed like that for a moment, quiet and still, as if listening for the tiny life growing inside her.