Elena's POV
Six Months
They tell you the second trimester is the easy part.
They don't tell you that "easy" is a relative word.
At six months pregnant, my body no longer felt like it belonged entirely to me. It felt shared. Negotiated. Occupied by a tiny dictator with very specific preferences and zero patience.
Like strawberries.At seven in the morning.With peanut butter.And sea salt.
Justin stared at me from across the kitchen island as I assembled what could only be described as a crime against culinary decency.
"You're not going to explain that?" he asked carefully.
"I don't need to explain brilliance."
He leaned back slightly, folding his arms. "That is strawberries. Covered in peanut butter."
"And sea salt," I added, sprinkling it with confidence.
"That's worse."
"It's genius."
He watched as I took a bite.
The sweetness hit first. Then the salt. Then the creaminess.
I closed my eyes.
"Oh my God."
He dragged a hand down his face.
