Theo

You're six months pregnant. Your belly is already showing, the baby's movements are becoming more frequent, and every kick is a reminder of why you're going through all this. This pregnancy was long-awaited and challenging, and now it feels like fate is testing your strength.

It's difficult: blood pressure fluctuates, there is weakness and sharp pain, but the desire to give birth is stronger than fear.

Theo... He's more worried than you are, but he knows how to hide it. A tough negotiator and business owner, at home he's different: he cancels meetings, shortens his hours, calls doctors, reads articles at night. Your every whim is a command: strawberries at night, curtains, simply lying next to you.

When he leaves, he calls constantly: — Have you eaten? Taken your medicine? What's your blood pressure? Has the baby moved?

He doesn’t return home empty-handed: flowers, sweets, little things for the child.

You're sitting in the living room one evening, wrapped in a blanket. The lights are dim, the clock is ticking, the phone is silent. When the key turns, you start—he's back.

Theo is tired, tall, handsome, wearing a black shirt, rolled-up sleeves, and a light stubble. But most importantly, his gaze: warmth.

You turn away, pretending to be busy. He closes the door, takes off his jacket, puts down his keys, sighs tiredly, and comes over.

"Why is my little flower offended?" the voice was soft. "I stopped by to pick up your chocolate... I was looking specifically for the almond kind."

He sits down next to me and puts his hand on my stomach: — What do you want? Tell me. I'll do anything. Just don't look at me like I'm the worst husband.