The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed the room in a golden light, casting gentle shadows across the silk sheets and the curves of Wisteria’s body. Milo lay beside her, propped on one elbow, his free hand resting on her stomach. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, his fingers tracing lazy patterns across her skin.
Her laughter, soft and unguarded, filled the room as she placed her hand over his. “Milo, you’re obsessed,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.
“I’m allowed to be,” he replied, his voice low and filled with warmth. “You’re carrying my child.” He smirked, his fingers splaying over her abdomen. “I’m just making sure everything’s still in place.”
Wisteria rolled her eyes, though her smile never wavered. “We haven’t even been to one appointment. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
Milo
