The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine Chapter 211: My Heavy Pregnant Wife

Jason POV

The silence in the car wasn’t peaceful. It was pregnant.

Literally and taphorically.

Ella sat in the passenger seat like a ticking ti bomb—arms crossed over her chest, face puffy from the earlier crying, hair a little windblown, and belly high and round under her stretched-out shirt. She hadn’t said a word since I’d helped her pee behind a tree.

I stole a glance at her.

"You okay?"

Her head snapped toward . "Do I look okay to you?"

"...Not really."

"Exactly." She huffed, dramatically shifting in her seat, groaning as she tried to adjust her position. "My back hurts. My belly feels like it’s pulling into the goddamn Earth’s core. My legs are sore. My ankles are swollen. And I swear my hip popped while I was climbing into your stupid SUV."

Okay, we were there.

I nodded, swallowing a laugh. "Anything else?"

"Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I’m starving and the baby now wants seafood. Imdiately. Like, sushi or grilled octopus or a mountain of prawns—don’t ask why. Ask your son."

"Could be a daughter," I offered carefully.

Ella turned her head slowly. "Jason."

"Right. Not the ti."

She sighed and leaned back into her seat, arms draped dramatically over her belly like she was reenacting a tragic scene from a Victorian play. "I was tricked," she muttered.

"Tricked?"

She nodded solemnly. "By Max and Dylan."

"Didn’t they take you to the park because you said you wanted so air?"

She scoffed. "That’s what they said. But what really happened is, they bribed ."

My eyebrows shot up. "With what?"

"Snacks. Chocolate. Biscuits. And those gummy bears dipped in sour powder—Dylan rembered I craved them two weeks ago and brought five bags. Five, Jason. That’s not a friend. That’s a demon in friendship’s clothing."

I snorted. "Sounds like classic manipulation."

"Then," she went on, ignoring , "they sweet-talked . Said it would be good for the baby. ’Healthy to walk, Ella.’ ’Promotes smoother labor, Ella.’ ’Do it for your baby, Ella.’ As if they have a uterus being held hostage by a waterlon-sized tenant!"

She rubbed her lower back and winced. I instinctively reached out, rubbing circles along her hip with my thumb as I drove.

"And did they make it fun?" I asked.

"Fun?! Jason. We ended up stuck in the middle of a park with no car access, surrounded by trees and judgntal squirrels, and when I refused to walk, they panicked like I’d announced I was going into labor. Max actually suggested building a leaf-throne and carrying out like a jungle queen."

I wheezed. "Please tell there’s a photo."

"They were too busy arguing about whose shoulders I’d break first."

I shook my head, lips twitching. "So what I’m hearing is... you were seduced by snacks and then emotionally manipulated by my idiot best friends into going on a hike you didn’t want?"

"Exactly!" she flung her hands up, then imdiately groaned, clutching her bump. "Ugh, even that hurt. I’m never trusting anyone who doesn’t have a uterus ever again."

I chuckled, glancing over at her. "You still mad at ?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You left alone with them."

"I was at a business eting! You knew that."

"They knew that," she snapped, "and still dragged into the damn Amazon!"

We pulled up to a red light, and I reached for her hand, holding it gently.

"You’re right. I should’ve known better than to trust those two with the one human being I care about most."

She blinked at , her irritation faltering for a second. "Oh no," she muttered. "You’re being sweet. Don’t do that."

"What?"

"You’re trying to make cry. I will cry, Jason. I will ruin my already ruined makeup and look like a raccoon on th."

I leaned over, brushing a kiss against her temple. "I’m not trying to make you cry. I’m trying to survive the wrath of my very pregnant wife. There’s a difference."

A beat of silence.

"Seafood," she said firmly.

"I’ll get you seafood."

"Good."

"And a back rub."

"...Yes."

"And I’ll not say a word about the demon baby cravings at 2 a.m."

She smirked. "No promises. But good effort."

I squeezed her hand, then turned back toward the road as the light turned green.

"I still can’t believe Dylan actually thought walking would help with labor," I said, shaking my head.

Ella groaned. "He said he read it in a ’dad forum.’ A forum, Jason. Where n ask other clueless n for birthing advice."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes. Then Max pulled out a yoga mat. A mat. Said he brought it just in case I wanted to do so stretches."

"Please say you didn’t."

"I told him the only stretch I wanted was his face being stretched by my hand."

I laughed so hard I almost missed the turn into our driveway.

As I parked, Ella leaned her head back with a heavy sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

"I hate everyone," she muttered.

"You love ," I said, hopping out of the car to help her down.

"I tolerate you," she replied, but the way she clung to my neck as I helped her out said otherwise.

We walked inside slowly, my arm around her waist, her body heavy against mine.

"Seafood," she whispered.

"Coming right up."

"Shrimp, scallops, calamari. Maybe even lobster if you love ."

"Are you ordering the entire ocean?"

"Yes. And you’re paying."

I just kissed her forehead.

********

As soon as we walked through the front door, Ella let out a groan loud enough to scare the neighbor’s cat off our porch. She kicked off her shoes with the precision of soone throwing weapons, then waddled toward the couch and dropped down like she was dying in slow motion.

I leaned in the doorway and watched her try to adjust her body like a beached whale attempting yoga.

She sighed dramatically. "I am never moving again."

"Perfect," I said, already heading to the bathroom. "Because I’m running you a bath."

She cracked one eye open. "With bubbles?"

"With bubbles."

"And salts?"

"Epsom, lavender, whatever you want."

There was a long pause. "...Do we still have that bath bomb that slls like coconut and makes the water look like glitter soup?"

"You an the one you said you were saving for the apocalypse?"

She nodded gravely. "This counts."

"Fair enough."

I started the water, dropped in the ridiculous glitter bomb, added lavender salts for her aching muscles, and even lit one of her fancy candles—the kind she buys, never lights, and scolds for "wasting the ambiance." Tonight, I was prepared to risk it.

When I returned to the living room, she was still starfished on the couch.

"Alright, my hormonal sea goddess. Your bath awaits."

Ella looked like she wanted to cry. "You ran the hot water?"

"Not too hot," I said, helping her up. "Pregnant woman-safe hot. I googled the temperature."

"Jason," she whispered, staring up at with glassy eyes.

"Yeah?"

"I’m so hungry."

I laughed, kissing her forehead. "Seafood’s on the way."

As she waddled toward the bathroom like a sore penguin, she mumbled, "If they forget the tartar sauce again, I’ll burn that place down."

I grinned and grabbed my phone, placing a huge order—shrimp, grilled calamari, lobster rolls, crab cakes, the whole marine crew. Then I tossed in so weird mango sushi she liked just in case the baby was picky today.

anwhile, I heard water sloshing and a faint, blissful moan echo from the bathroom. That was my cue.

I knocked once on the door.

"You good?"

"I’m never leaving this tub," she called out. "It’s now. I live here. Tell the baby this is ho."

I laughed. "Okay, Miss rmaid. I’ll be back when Poseidon’s dinner arrives."

"Bring ice cream too," she added suddenly. "And grapes. I want to eat them dramatically like a Roman queen while I bathe."

"Grapes. Got it."

"And don’t you dare skimp on the dipping sauces!"

"I wouldn’t dream of it."

Her voice dropped an octave. "Because if I have to put on pants and chase you for forgetting the aioli again, I will."

"Threat received, love."

I shook my head, smiling like a fool as I headed to the kitchen to get her grapes, ntally rehearsing which dipping sauces ca with what so I wouldn’t be murdered before dinner.

This woman... This chaotic, emotional, snack-demanding woman with aching hips and a belly full of fire and mood swings—she had sohow beco the best part of my life.

And I’d serve her grapes in the bath for the rest of my days if she let .