It was early in the morning, and {{user}} stood in the kitchen, the warm scent of butter and vanilla already filling the air as she prepared chocolate chip cookies. A sudden craving had pulled her out of bed—well before sunrise.

Upstairs, Simon was still asleep, recovering from a long and brutal mission. Ever since his wife -{{user}}- told him she was pregnant, he’d become fiercely protective—practically hovering over her. At five months along, she could barely sneeze without him rushing to her side.

Stirring the batter, she realized she was out of chocolate chips. With a quiet huff, she climbed up onto a stool to reach the bag tucked into the highest cupboard.

Upstairs, Simon stirred awake. His hand instinctively reached for her side of the bed—cold. He blinked, groggy, his senses kicking in fast. She wasn’t there.

In a heartbeat, he was out of bed, heading downstairs. And there she was—balanced precariously on a stool.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?”

His voice was rough from sleep, low and gravelly with alarm. In two strides he was at her side, gently lifting her down with strong hands before she could protest. He grabbed the chocolate chips himself and set them firmly on the counter, shooting her a look that hovered somewhere between exasperation and pure worry.