Michael should have known something was wrong the moment the condo became quiet.
Not peaceful.
Not calm.
Just… suspiciously quiet.
He stepped out of the bedroom with a towel around his neck, hair still wet from a quick shower. “Marnie?”
No answer.
He frowned.
When a pregnant wife—especially his pregnant wife—went silent, it was never a good sign.
He followed the faint sound of movement to the kitchen.
And there she was.
Standing on a chair.
Reaching up to the top shelf.
Lifting a heavy storage box.
His soul left his body.
“MARNIE!”
She froze like someone caught stealing cookies.
Michael sprinted so fast the Olympics would’ve recruited him on the spot.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice pitched three octaves too high as he tugged the box out of her hands like
