Chapter 56 Nesting Mode Begins (Marnie Takes Over the Condo)
1215 Words
Michael woke up to the sound of dragging furniture.
Not soft scraping.
Not mild shifting.
No—this was the kind of dragging that made the walls shake and the ceiling light wobble slightly.
He blinked at the alarm clock.
5:47 a.m.
He sat up. “Marnie…?”
A thud echoed from the living room.
He rubbed his face. “Oh, God. It’s happening.”
Nesting mode.
Pregnancy’s legendary, unstoppable phase.
He stepped out of the bedroom—and immediately froze.
The condo looked like a tornado had kissed a boutique and a department store at the same time.
Boxes everywhere.
Shopping bags lined up like soldiers.
Curtains halfway hung, halfway fallen.
Throw pillows piled at the corner like a colorful mountain.
Marnie stood in the middle, hands on her hips, wearing Michael’s loose shirt like a tiny war commander. Her hair was tied up, her eyes sharp with mission-level determination.
When she saw him, she lit up.
“Perfect! You’re awake.”
Uh oh.
Michael swallowed. “Morning, baby.”
“No time for morning.” She pointed at the sofa like a general pointing at an underperforming soldier. “We need to move this. Now.”
Michael squinted. “It’s… five in the morning.”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation, “and the twins want the energy in this condo balanced.”
Michael blinked. “The twins… want feng shui?”
She nodded firmly. “They can feel the clutter. It stresses them.”
Michael looked around. “This isn’t clutter. This is… chaos. Beautiful chaos. My chaos. Which I thought was safe.”
She raised a brow.
He corrected himself instantly.
“Your beautiful chaos. Our beautiful chaos.”
Marnie walked to him, grabbed both sides of his face, and kissed his cheek with affection that contradicted her battle-mode expression.
“Good. Now help me move the sofa.”
He sighed and lifted the sofa easily—doctor arms and gym membership paying off—but as he did, she yelled:
“No! Not that direction—rotate it! No, other rotate! Wait, put it back! No, forward! Michael, love, please use your heart, not your muscles!”
He placed the sofa down before he accidentally yeeted it off the balcony.
“Marnie,” he breathed, “what exactly are we doing?”
“We are creating a peaceful nest,” she said, pacing dramatically. “I want the twins to come home to a space that radiates serenity, safety, and love.”
“I love that,” he said sincerely. “I do. But can I ask one tiny little question?”
She turned, serious. “What?”
“Why is my entire shoe collection in the bathtub?”
Marnie didn’t even blink.
“It’s temporary.”
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t shower if my sneakers are drowning.”
“Michael, we have bigger problems.” She pointed at a giant box behind her. “I think the crib color is wrong.”
He paused.
“…We bought white.”
“Yes, but look at the undertone!” She ripped the box open with surprising strength. “It’s ivory. IVORY!”
He stared.
“And?”
“It clashes with the curtains! And the rug! And your weird blue mug that you refuse to throw away!”
Michael gasped. “My mug is family. It stays.”
“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Michael, it has a chip.”
“It adds character.”
“It adds tetanus risk!”
He held her shoulders gently. “Breathe. Look at me. I love you. The twins love you. The mug loves you.”
She stared at him.
Then burst into tears.
Not dramatic sobbing—just soft, overwhelmed tears.
Michael panicked instantly.
“Baby—no—oh God—please don’t cry—come here—no, I didn’t mean to attack the curtains—I love the curtains—heck, I’ll marry the curtains—just please don’t cry—”
Marnie sniffed into his chest. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“Because you’re pregnant,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing her back. “With two tiny gremlins who have stolen your sanity and rearranged your brain chemistry.”
She laughed weakly. “I just want everything perfect.”
“And it will be,” he promised. “But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. We’re a team.”
She nodded against him. “Okay.”
“Good,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Now step aside. I’ll handle—”
He froze.
A new thought hit him like a bus.
“…Did you move my medical textbooks?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the oven.”
Michael stared at her.
“In the… oven.”
“Yes.”
He inhaled deeply. “Okay. I love you. You’re my wife. You’re carrying our babies. And because of that sacred truth, I am going to ignore the fact that you used a culinary appliance as a bookshelf.”
She smiled sweetly, the tears already gone. “Thank you, my love.”
He sighed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I’m very cute,” she reminded him, poking his chest.
“You’re devastatingly cute,” he corrected, lifting her chin for a soft, grounding kiss.
She melted slightly.
But then—
“Okay,” she said briskly, pulling away. “Sofa. Now.”
And the war resumed.
Three hours later, the condo transformation was… impressive.
The nursery corner was organized.
The throw pillows were no longer forming a mountain.
The curtains were hung properly—by Michael, after three failed attempts and one small emotional collapse.
The sofa found its rightful place after ten rotations, twelve arguments, and one peace treaty.
Finally, Marnie sat down, exhausted but glowing in that beautiful, pregnant way that made Michael’s heart squeeze.
He brought her water. “How do you feel?”
She leaned on him, sighing contentedly. “Like a mama bird who finally arranged her nest.”
He smiled. “Good. Because once the twins arrive, they’re going to destroy this place.”
She glared at him. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
He kissed her forehead. “Never.”
She closed her eyes, resting against him.
“Michael?”
“Hmm?”
“Tomorrow… we rearrange the bedroom.”
He froze.
“…Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“But—why?”
She smirked.
“Because nesting mode has just begun.”
Michael stared at the ceiling.
He whispered a prayer only exhausted husbands usually pray:
“Lord, grant me strength.”
Marnie giggled and squeezed his hand.
And despite the exhaustion—
Despite the chaos—
Despite the early morning furniture marathon—
Michael looked at her and realized:
He wouldn’t trade this life for anything.
Not even a home with stable furniture.
Not even a condo without ivory-versus-white crises.
Not even freedom from nesting mania.
He loved her.
He loved their twins.
And he would follow her through every hormonal storm, every nesting phase, and every couch rotation.
Because this—
This chaotic, emotional, overwhelming, beautiful life—
Was exactly where he belonged.
- Writer
