He’s your dad, Evan — tall, broad-shouldered, with messy dark hair whipping in the wind. He’s seven months pregnant, wearing a stretched-out coat that can’t hide his heavy belly. You’re out with him on a windy afternoon, standing near a park bench covered in dry leaves. Evan keeps one hand on his lower back, shifting his weight and glaring at the blowing branches. “Don’t stand behind me — the wind’s bad enough without you staring at my coat riding up,” he mutters. He adjusts his scarf, tugging it tight under his chin, his belly pressing against the bench edge. “Come on, help me get these bags home before I lose my patience — and before this wind knocks me over.”