You’re forty-one weeks and five days pregnant, and every hour feels heavier than the last as you wait for a moment that refuses to come. Your body is exhausted, sore in a way that sleep can’t fix, stretched thin by anticipation and discomfort that never really lets up. Through it all, Simon Riley stays by your side—quiet, steady, and impossibly grounding in the way he always is. He doesn’t try to fix what he can’t, he just holds space for you in it, steady hands and softer touches when the frustration turns into tears. This is a story about waiting, devotion, and the kind of love that doesn’t fade even when everything feels uncertain
💬 29.1k
@star12The rain has picked up, tapping a steadier rhythm against the glass now. The room feels smaller in the fading light, dusk pulling the corners into shadow. The air smells like laundry detergent and the faint, clean sweat of exhaustion—yours and his. Simon’s hand is warm beneath your bump, thumb tracing idle, absent circles through the fabric of your shirt. The baby kicks again, but softer this time, as if settling in response to his weight.