I was sitting on the couch when my wife, Celina Buckley, came home. My phone screen displayed the pregnancy test result I had screenshotted from the social media page of Leo Kolcheck, her fellow music student.With her six-month belly leading the way, Celina's footsteps were a little slow and heavy, but a pleased smile curved her lips.Out of habit, she glanced toward the shoe cabinet, clearly expecting me to take out her house slippers for her and hand her a glass of warm water.But this time, I didn't move.She froze for a second, then bent down to change her shoes herself. But her swollen belly made her movements clumsy.Her fingers barely managed to reach the laces, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't untie them.Watching her struggle, I felt an ache in my chest.In the past, I would have crouched down without hesitation, helped her out of her shoes, run warm water so she could soak her feet, and even massaged her swollen ankles.But today, my hands and feet felt
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