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I turn around to find a soft-looking plum-colored maxi dress hanging off the towel bar behind me. The dress is paired with an elegant, layered necklace and matching earrings that are hanging off the hook, and beneath the ensemble is a pair of flats with a cute floral pattern that matches the shade of the dress.

I don’t have to text him to know he did this.

I don’t want the confirmation that he would do something like this, nor do I want to know how it plays into whatever game he’s been playing with my head recently.

Ignoring the tightness in my chest, I turn back around and go about putting on my makeup and arranging my auburn curls into a more manageable pattern. However, every few minutes, my attention strays back to the outfit that has been so carefully put together for me, and the tension in my chest returns.

When I’m finished with my hair and makeup, I swing around to face my fabric nemesis.

“Just because it’s pretty doesn’t mean you have to wear it, Elsie,” I mutter, my hand reaching out to run the soft fabric through my fingers. “You have plenty of clothes to wear.”

Stomping my way into the closet, I go through the racks of clothes, searching for something suitable to wear for brunch in September.

Everything I pull out doesn’t feel quite right, though, and eventually, I cave and go back into the bathroom to continue my stand-off with the perfect plum dress.

“Fucking Marshall,” I grumble, taking the dress off the hanger and grabbing the accessories in my free hand.

Back in my closet, I pull out the maternity bra and underwear, which he annoyingly bought without asking my size, and somehow still got it right before pulling on the outfit.

When I turn to look at myself in the full-length mirror, my breath catches.

The empire waist of the dress highlights how my belly has grown in the past few months. Instead of wrestling with the little voice that tells me my changing figure is something to be ashamed of, I feel… beautiful. For the first time in months, I feel like the glowing, expectant mother everyone dreams of being.

“Do not cry, Elizabeth Iris Snow,” I say, tilting my head back to keep the tears from falling and ruining my carefully applied makeup. “Your foundation is $50.”

When I’ve collected myself, I trudge slowly out of the closet and back to the living room to pack up my purse.

I’m scrolling through emails on my computer when Selene comes through the door, without knocking, might I add.

“Alright, mama. Let’s get you to brunch!” She says, waltzing into my living space where I’m propped on the couch with my computer on my belly. “Ready?”

I frown. “I’ve been ready for an hour, Selene.”

Before my eyes, I see her turn into a caricature of herself as she grimaces in apology. “Sorry. Got held up with something.”

“Fine. But you’re buying.” I grumble alongside my hungry stomach.

“Got it.” She smirks, helping me haul myself off the couch. “Cute outfit, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I grumble. “Marshall picked it out.”

“I like it. He has good taste.” She smiles. “Let’s go, mama.”

When we get downstairs, I spot Gunnar’s SUV idling in the parking lot.

“Chauffeur today?” I ask.

“Ugh.” Selene groans. “You get into one little fender bender two years ago, and suddenly, I’m not allowed to drive anywhere.”

“It’s sweet,” I say as she helps me waddle over to the car.

She sighs and opens the back door for me. “Yeah. It really is.”

Thankfully the SUV has handles that I use to struggle my 4’11” fat ass into the tall vehicle.

When I get settled into the seat, I look up to find Gunnar grinning at me.

“Morning.” He says with a deep chuckle.

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