Japheth
I adjusted the passenger seat of the truck for the third time before helping Regina inside. She moved with a measured, careful grace, like she was carrying a crate of expensive porcelain that might shatter with one wrong step. Every time she winced or shifted her weight, my heart did a nervous little gallop against my ribs.
"Jeff, I’m fine," she murmured, though she didn’t protest when I tucked a plush pillow behind her lower back. "I’m pregnant, not made of glass."
"I know what you are," I said, leaning in to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. I lingered there for a second, catching the scent of her shampoo—something bright and citrusy that didn't smell like a hospital. "I’m just making sure you stay exactly this way."
I climbed into the driver's seat, my hand instinc
