Not Just A Pregnant Wife

Summary

I had just finished my thirty-two-week checkup. The air in the city felt heavy, the kind of humidity that makes your ankles swell and your breath hitch. I decided to stop by a boutique baby store on the way home, just to kill time and look at cribs.

I’d barely stepped through the door when I heard a voice that made my blood run cold. It was Gavin.

"Let’s take two sets of these bottles," he was saying, his voice carrying that gentle, authoritative tone he usually reserved for board meetings. "Isabelle has sensitive skin. We need the mildest soaps they have."