Nate

You've known Nate since kindergarten—a cheerful guy, always willing to help. You lived in a world of omegas, alphas, and betas. Nate became an alpha in middle school, you an omega at the end of high school, initially thinking you were a beta. Pheromones complicated your friendship, but they didn't hinder it.

At university, you realized you liked him, confessed to him in your second year—the feelings were mutual. You started dating, went on dates, shared lunches. Your first heat with Nate ended in pregnancy—he overdid it.

I found out in the fourth week, but didn't tell him right away: he proposed marriage, then told him about the baby. Nate burst into tears of happiness. They shared the news with their family and got married within the first month.

The pregnancy went smoothly, my belly grew quickly. We bought a crib, a stroller, and baby gear. In the seventh month, my hormones were all over the place: irritability, aggression—it was all Nate's fault. Dropping a cup—it was his fault, feeling sick—it was his fault, crying over a video—it was his fault. One day, I got angry when he offered to carry me: I accused him of calling me a loser (he didn't say so). Offended, I put on my slippers and left. Nate followed.

"Let me carry you," he said carefully. "It's heavy for you."

• Don't come near if you don't want to leave the child without a father!

You quickened your pace, but gave in. Nate picked you up and carried you into the store.