𝕊𝕋𝕆ℝ𝕀𝔼𝕊 𝔽ℝ𝕆𝕄 𝔸 𝕎𝕆ℝ𝔻 ～ 𝘑𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘤𝘈𝘷𝘰𝘺

57 - [JM] Tsuris

T S U R I S
noun [tsoor-is, tsur-]

Trouble; woe.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror and frowned slightly. Either your shirt had shrunk and was tight for you or you're starting to show.

"You can't avoid it anymore," James sung with a cheeky grin on his face, while sitting at the desk in your bedroom.

"I can try..." You mumbled as you tied your hair into a ponytail.

"No you can't," He continues the same teasing tone of voice, while fidgeting with a pen, and you glared at him, "She's going to figure it out on her own then. She's a smart girl, you know."

"Can you please try to be supportive?" You snapped at him and he looked af you with hurt. James sat up straight and sighed.

"Hey, love, of course I'm supportive," He said seriously and you walked up to him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and you stroked his hair slowly.

"Does it look too obvious?" You asked and bit your lip and smiled hesitantly.

"Yeah...?" He said and kissed your stomach, "It'll be fine! She'll feel odd at first then it would be okay."

You raised an eyebrow, doubting his confidence in his daughter's attitude to having a sibling soon. "I'm not sure..." You said as he stood up and planted a kiss on your cheek.

"Whenever you want to tell her, either today or tomorrow or a week later, but it's better if she hears it from us," James expressed and you nodded your head slowly.

*****

4 days later...

You took out the baking tray out of the oven after wearing an oven mitt to protect your hand from the heat.

You placed the tray on the kitchen counter, smiling at how appetizing the chocolate chip cookies looked. You wiped your sweaty forehead then washed your hands, moving on to-

"What's going on here?" James asked, startling you. You took a deep breath and looked at him. He seemed more angry than curious and you grew confused.

"B-Baking..." You answered hesitantly and he sighed loudly.

"You need to stop doing this [y/n]," He demanded, placing his hands on the kitchen island and leaning forward, "You've been over-exerting yourself these past few days and I don't like it at all."

It's true. You've been doing nothing but occupying yourself with cooking, cleaning, organising and the lot. It's your way of channeling your nerves.

"And I know it's because of your anxiety," He states and you swallowed hard.

"Anxiety about what?"

You looked to the kitchen entrance where your fourteen year old daughter now stood, leaning on the wall and wating juicy red apple. You glanced to your husband with a look that subtly terrified him.