I was determined to win back my wife whichever way I could. I would give her the world if she would ask me for it but damn, she was making it feel like a military-level operation. Queen's pregnancy wasn't this tough. This one turned her into a hormonal hurricane, a fire-breathing dragon, and a mafia boss all in one. And yet, I still wanted her back.
Every night, I braced myself for the inevitable phone call.
Ring. Ring.
"Richard." Her voice would come through the phone, sweet and soft.
"Yes, babe?"
"I want ice cream."
"That's okay, I can—"
"With chocolate chunks and some peppersoup from my favourite restaurant."
"…Nita."
"Richard, I am carrying your child. Your second child. If I don't get this ice cream in exactly twenty-five minutes, I will un-carry your child."
The line would go dead, and I'd already be running out the door.