Caden's POV

I feel absolutely disgusting. My stomach feels like its twisting its insides in loopty-loops and the food I ate last night is most definitely coming back to be uneaten.

Yep, it's coming back.

I race out of bed and vomit my dinner last night into the toilet.

I have never felt as sick as I do now. What the hell is going on?

Silas had to leave early for a meeting which means I have the house to myself.

With all the dress designing I've been doing and my appetite that's grown twice over the last few weeks, my pallet has been extremely full.

It doesn't help that I've been getting sick so many times. I try not to let Silas worry, especially when he begins to venture out on partnerships with other companies, but if this sickness gets out of hand, I will have to tell him eventually.

With no one else to turn to, I think of the one person who I know I can trust.

"Hi, Agnes," I kind of whisper. My stomach is clenching painfully right now, so I can barely muster just over a whisper.

"Hi, sweat bean," her crisp voice replies. "Why are you calling?"

"I sort of have a problem." Again with that shaky whisper.

"Are you okay? Do you need something?" Agnes immediately goes to her protective, worried voice which makes my heart melt every time she does.

"It's nothing bad. It's just. I've been feeling sick recently. Like, I have been extremely nauseous, and everything about my body is just so sore and tender." The clenching is getting more and more painful now. "Just please help me, Agnes!" I plead/cry.

"I am so sorry, dear. Everything you've just described me, it sounds like you are pregnant."

The clenching has magically stopped.

+++

Silas's POV

I come home from work, smelling the beautiful aroma of grilled steak and potatoes. "Smells good," I say out loud, even though I don't see my wife anywhere.

"Baby, you there!?" I yell out.

In my periphery, I notice Caden's startled look as she sees me. She's half-dressed, just in her bra and a flowy skirt. "Silas! You came home early."

"Yeah, we wrapped up early today. Mind telling me what you're doing?" She laughs nervously as she tries to put on an off-the-shoulder top. "Well, I was going to surprise you with something, but I thought I had more time."

I'm puzzled. "Surprise me with what?"

"That's the point of a surprise, dummy. You're not supposed to know until I surprise you with it. Now get out, I need to change." She shoos me away from the bedroom and I am left in the living room, where I can still smell the steak and potatoes.

"Are you almost ready, because this food looks good and I don't know how long I can contain myself until I dig in!" I yell out to her.

"Don't you dare eat a single thing off those plates!" she yells back. God, I love messing with that woman.

Finally she comes out of our bedroom, looking beautiful as always. She's donned a new skirt I've never seen before and a white off-the-shoulder top that exposes her midriff.

"Okay, now we can eat."

We settle ourselves into our chairs and I immediately dig in, absolutely famished.

When our steaks have been gnawed clean and our potatoes are no where in sight, I finally look at my wife. "Okay, what was the surprise."

She looks at me happily, yet a little tired. Her eyes have a few dark circles and I've been noticing lately that she's been in the bathroom for quite a while.

But before she can speak, I interrupt her. "Wait, before you tell me, can I run to the bathroom real quick?" Caden nods anxiously. I tilt my head in confusion.

Why is she nervous. Hm, maybe it has something to do with her surprise.

Quickly, I stalk off to the bathroom, not wanting her to wait too long. After I relieve myself, I wash my hands and dry them with a paper towel. I open the trash can to dispose it when I notice a box.

A box.

There's a box with a baby on it.

A. BOX. With a FUCKING BABY ON IT!!

This is the surprise? This better be the fucking surprise.

I grab the box. It's empty. I assume she has the test.

The test. That will have two pink lines.

Which only means one thing.

"You're pregnant?"

Caden comes rushing into the bathroom, having probably heard what I said. "Noooo," she wails. "I was supposed to tell you that, you jerk!" She hits my arms and stalk off to the kitchen, looking very unhappy which boggles my mind. SHE'S FUCKING PREGNANT!

In an instant, I drop the box and rush after her. My wife. Who's carrying our child. OUR FUCKING CHILD!!!

"You're pregnant, baby?" I whisper, after having caught up with her and wrapped my arms around her from behind. She doesn't respond. "Shut up, I'm mad at you."

I squeeze her tighter and let out a sigh. "You're pregnant."

She just shakes her head, still upset. "Yeah, and I planned this whole dinner and made this whole outfit to tell you, and you just had to ruin it," she grumbles. "I was supposed to tell you, ugly."

I chuckle. When she turns around, probably ready to slap me across the face for laughing when she's upset, her face changes. Her eyes are soft, and warm, and her hand comes to caress my cheek.

No, not my cheek. Her fingers run under my eyes, the wetness of my tears painting her thumb. "We're pregnant," she whispers. I let out a choked laugh and wrap my arms around her waist, picking her up. "WE'RE FUCKING PRENGANT!!!"

+++

Caden's POV

Six Months Later

"Baby, you are not wearing that." Silas looks down at my outfit, a disapproving look on his handsome face.

"Yes, I am." I look down at my gym clothes. It's a cute, matching set of leggings and a sports bra, and I feel pretty in them. I haven't felt this way since my stomach has been growing bigger and my times in the bathroom have grown longer.

"Alright, then shall we do the finger test?" I roll my eyes. God, the finger test.

Ever since he found out, Silas has gone into an ultra-protective mode, removing "dangerous hazards" all around the house to keep us safe. This includes but is not limited to: tight clothes, sharp counter edges, clothes on the floor, shoes that can cut the circulation of my feet, the stove, the sink, the bathroom, and basically anything that gives me joy in life.

I have been quickly banned from parts of the house, including the kitchen and laundry room. Why the laundry room, I will never know. And Silas always insists on taking showers together, so afraid that I will slip and fall and hurt me and the baby.

If I wasn't so annoyed by his constant helicoptering me around, I would find it adorable. But since my pregnancy hormones have been on a high recently, everything he does just pisses me off.

Now, the finger test. A very effective method, as Silas likes to call it. Every time I wear clothing deemed to tight by Silas, he must perform the finger test. This involves putting his pointer fingers where the band of my legging or pants are and "testing" it. If the clothes do not pass the finger test, I have to change. It seems my whole closet does not pass the finger test.

Do I change? Hell, no. I usually carry an extra bag every time I go out, and put back the "too tight" clothes on. I think it's best if I don't reveal that secret until after the baby is born.

Silas walks up to me, and begins to kiss me. I already know what he's going to do but he is a talented kisser, and I refuse to let his talent go to waste. While he continues to ravish my lips, I feel his fingers under the waste band of my leggings, sliding across my hips, "testing" the stretchiness.

"Change," he whispers into my kiss. I roll my eyes. Shore, I'll definitely change.

I nod innocently, like the good wife I am. But in my head, I am plotting a hundred ways to get away with murdering my husband if he doesn't quit annoying the hell out of me.

"How about this? I'll go to the gym with you?" No. That's what I want to say. I don't want him to go with me. I want to be alone and wallow in my self-pity.

"Sure, okay," I try to say enthusiastically. He smiles and I smile back and then he go to the kitchen, probably to make a protein shake. I smile as he leaves.

And then I crumble.

+++

After quickly making my protein shake, I walk back into the bedroom, ready to change into some workout clothes.

I wasn't planning on going to gym today, but who knows what could happen while she's there. What if she drops a weight on her stomach and hurts herself and the baby? Or, what if some creep decides to have a death wish and hit on her. I can't let that happen.

As soon as I step inside, I already know something is wrong. I can just feel it. I don't have to see my wife on the floor, sobbing, to know when she's hurting.

"Baby, what's wrong?" I ask, kneeling down in front of her.

She just sobs harder. Her face is buried in her hands, and her whole body is shaking.

I hate this. I hate seeing her in pain. I try to grab her hands but she doesn't let me. "Baby, talk to me," I plead. "Stop crying, please. It kills me to see you cry."

I sit on the floor and grab her head to rest onto mine. I stroke her hair, knowing how much she loves that.

After some time, when the sobs have subsided, she finally looks up at me. "What's wrong?" I ask her.

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, these hormones are driving me crazy." I narrow my eyes. She's lying. I'm not saying her hormones are a pain in the ass, but there's something more, and I hate that she isn't telling me.

"Caden," I cup her face so that her eyes lock onto mine, "you can tell me when something is bothering you. It won't hurt my feelings. I want you to be happy, but that's not going to work if you don't tell me the whole story."

I can tell she's guilty. I won't lie, the pregnancy hasn't been easy for her. I can tell she's in a lot of pain, and I always try my best to ease it however I can. "So please, tell me. You can tell me anything.

She sighs, and kisses my hand. "Okay. It's just, ever since the second trimester, I've just been feeling... ugly. Everywhere. And my back hurts. All the time. And, when I want to do something to distract my mind, like cook, or take a bath, you don't let me. You don't let me do anything anymore. Sometimes, I want to have a long bath, and you always insist on being there, so that I don't fall. And, I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you do. It's just, I feel like I'm not even myself anymore. I don't want you to coddle me. I want to be able to do things on my own. I'm strong, you know. And I know you're just being protective, but I also want to be alone sometimes. Or I want to cook. For us. For the baby. I want to shower together, but sometimes, I want to shower alone. And I want to wear clothes that make me feel beautiful."

She looks up at me, guilty. Tears are already welling up in her eyes. She feels ugly? She's the complete opposite of ugly. She's fucking beautiful. "You're already beautiful," I whisper.

I feel stupid. So fucking stupid. I should've known she would've liked to be alone once in a while. Everyone does. And she's been in so much fucking pain, so much pain, and I had no idea. I always tried to give her a warm towel, but she always insisted on taking a hot shower. Or bath. And I just had to be there, to make sure nothing happened.

"God, I'm sorry, baby. I had no idea. I just want to make sure you're safe. I don't want anything to happen to you." I shake my head, hating myself so much right now.

"No, it's okay." Now it's her turn to grab my face, my eyes zeroing in on hers. "I know you were just trying to keep me safe. And I love you for that. I should've said something sooner, but I didn't have the heart to." She kisses me softly, her lips melting onto mine. "From now on, I'll tell you whenever I want to be alone. It's only sometimes. On particularly painful days. I get agitated easily on those days."

I nod my head. "I understand." And we sit there together, holding onto each other. And for the next two hours, we confess six months worth of grievances to each other.

Can you believe she doesn't like my scrambled eggs!?

+++