The sight of Harry in the doorway feels like a splash of cold water. Curled on the sofa, a cocoon of blankets wrapped tightly around me and Piper, I resemble a shipwreck survivor clinging to debris. The remains of cheesy chips and curry sauce sit on my belly, a monument to emotional eating. A hiccup escapes my lips, morphing into a full-blown sob as Harry grimaces at the scene.

His usual teasing comment dies on his lips as he sees the wreckage of my emotions. He eases onto the opposite end of the sofa, careful not to disturb Piper who nestles her snout deeper onto my thigh. Lifting the edge of the blanket, he reveals a wasteland – an empty Percy Pig bag, an opened oatcake packet with a single, gnawed treat shoved back in, and a half-empty bottle of Irn Bru. The container of strawberries now holds only hollowed-out shells, testaments to my mindless consumption.

Through a haze of tears, I gesture weakly at the television. The final scene of "Babe" plays, the sheepdog miraculously herding the flock without a struggle. Tears well up again as the two pigs wearing collars exit the ring, leaving Babe to guide the whole group into the pen. The silence hanging over the fairgrounds is deafening, broken only by the cheers erupting as the final judge raises his perfect score.

Just as I think I can't take another emotional beat, Farmer Hoggett's final line washes over me. A sob rips through me, and Harry, ever-supportive, wraps an arm around me. He remains silent, allowing me to stain his expensive-looking jumper with my salty tears. Gently, he removes the half-empty (or half-full?) container of chips, creating a small space for me to curl into him further.

When I finally calm down, sniffling and reaching for a tissue, Harry is there, pulling a fresh one from the box. Even after blowing my nose, fresh tears stream down my face. He dangles another tissue, his silent concern a balm to my raw emotions.

"S-so sorry, Harry," I manage, my voice thick. "I'm feeling a bit...fragile tonight."

He chuckles softly. "Don't worry," he says, "you're allowed to have as many breakdowns as you need over an animatronic pig."

Swatting playfully at his arm, I mumble, "It has nothing to do with the pig."

"It's a cute pig," he presses, a teasing glint in his eye.

The smile I give him is weak, and I pout, a single tear escaping. "Don't wanna talk about the pig that might potentially be bacon one day in the future."

He leans in, his lips brushing the top of my head. "Anything in particular set you off, or are we blaming this on your hormones being out of whack?"

Instead of answering, I take a deep breath, a shiver racking my body. Pulling away from Harry, I scratch Piper behind her ears. "Maybe I was wrong," I whisper.

Silence follows my pronouncement. Harry switches off the television, the sudden lack of sound amplifying the weight of my words. I close my eyes, burying my head in his shoulder, turning away from him. Shortbread, sensing my distress, jumps onto the now-empty space on the sofa, nuzzling me with her wet nose. I push her away gently, the touch too much to bear just then.

"About?" he prompts cautiously.

"Piper." My voice is raw, barely audible even to me.

"If you didn't do the chemo, how much longer would she live?" Harry's voice is hoarse, the first sign of his own struggle.

Calculating the date, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the truth away. "Another couple of weeks, probably."

The room feels devoid of life. I sense Harry release my hair and withdraw his arm.

"I have no words, Anna," he finally speaks. "You're her caretaker, her doctor. I already said I'd support you no matter what. I just..." he pauses, his breathing hitching. "...can you wait until I'm here with you before you put her down? I don't want you to do it alone, and I...well..."

"Yes," My voice is hushed and reverent, the weight of the promise settling on my shoulders. This isn't just about Piper anymore; it's about the future stretching out before us, a future that will surely be full of both joy and heartache.

A bittersweet smile tugs at my lips. The nursery, a haven of pastel colours and fluffy toys, awaits upstairs, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil unfolding on the sofa. I force a smile, carefully moving Piper's head onto a cushion before placing a kiss on her forehead. "You can sleep here," I whisper as she responds with a single grateful sneeze. "You've not seen the nursery yet," My hand grabs Harry's fingers. "Come look!"

"Hang on!" Harry calls, already gathering the remnants of my junk food binge. "Let me throw this in the bin first."

A smile tugs at my lips as Harry disappears into the kitchen, the warmth of his consideration washing over me. He truly is a good egg.

He returns with a glass of water, his brow furrowed in unspoken concern. Without a word, he offers his hand, and I let him pull me upstairs towards the nursery. The sight of the lovingly decorated room, a testament to the love and support surrounding us, brings a lump to my throat.

"Can you believe it?" I ask, my voice thick with emotion.

Harry's gaze sweeps across the room, lingering on the artwork and the tiny clothes peeking out from dresser drawers. His face softens. "This is magnificent," he breathes, his voice echoing the fragile hope blooming in my chest.

We spend a while in comfortable silence (clearly not overrated), lost in the anticipation of what is to come. The weight of Piper's situation still hangs heavy, but for a moment, I allow myself to be swept away by the promise of the future.

Eventually, Harry settles into the rocking chair, patting his lap. "Come sit with me, Mum," he offers.

I hesitate, a part of me flinching at the unfamiliar term. "Hmm," I mumble, taking a seat regardless. "I don't know about that. You call your mum 'Mum.'"

"Would you rather be a 'Mam' or a 'Mummy'?" he teases, a playful glint in his eyes.

I laugh, the sound tinged with a hint of sadness. "I'd rather be Anna," I admit.

But Harry is right. Our child won't call me Anna. Acceptance settles over me.

"Our child can call me mum," I concede, "but you can't. We're not those people...yet."

He chuckles, the sound warm and reassuring. "Yet," he echoes, leaning down to kiss my cheek. "Something tells me we will be."

Content with that promise, I snuggle against him as he begins to rock gently, humming a soft tune. The rhythmic sway lulls me into a restless sleep. When I awaken in our bed, the room is bathed in the soft light of dawn, and Harry is gone.

Stretching, I realise with a sigh that changing out of my work clothes is the least of my worries today. Comfort isn't just about clothes right now. It's about navigating the uncertain path ahead, one step at a time.

As night falls once more, exhaustion clings to me like a second skin following a full schedule. The day's patients have drained my energy, but a comforting warmth blooms at the thought of my man coming home. Tonight is about cosiness.

Upstairs, I shed my work clothes and slip into a luxuriously soft nightshirt. A gentle smile plays on my lips as I run a hand over the curve of my belly, now undeniably a baby bump. A tiny human, or an alien with its otherworldly kicks, resides within.

Body image has never been a major concern for me. My body is a vessel, a home for my soul. But a fleeting worry flickers – will Harry find me less attractive after the pregnancy? Pushing the thought aside, I remind myself of his love. If a few pregnancy pounds matter more than our connection, well, that wouldn't be a future I wanted anyway.

With a sigh, I rummage through the drawer for my socks with the grippy bottoms – a must-have on these wood floors. Downstairs, I survey the fridge, hoping for some culinary inspiration. My stomach rumbles in protest when nothing looks right.

"Patience," I murmur, a small smile tugging at my lips. "We'll find something good."

The words "Mummy is going to feed you" tumble out before I can stop them. A nervous laugh escapes me. Good thing Harry isn't around to hear that. "Let's keep that little slip-up between us, shall we?" I whisper to the fridge, a playful conspirator.

Staring into the freezer, I finally withdraw a bag of mixed frozen fruit and a frozen sliced banana. From the fridge, I grab some oat milk, a handful of spinach, and a container of plain yoghurt.

He must enter while the concoction is in the blender because I don't hear him behind me until his hands are on my waist, at which point I jump, and the lid of the blender (which I had been holding down) nearly pops off. Luckily, my boyfriend grabs my hand, holding the lid on tightly, his warm hand covering mine, and I melt backwards into him, imagining I'm Homer Simpson disappearing into a hedge.

His lips touch my neck, and I sigh.

"Better turn it off, babe," his husky voice breathes into my ear.

Confused for a moment, I blink. Turn off my libido? Then it dawns on me – he means the blender! Stabbing at the button, a burst of laughter escapes as I turn, wrapping my arms around his neck. Pulling him close, I savour a kiss, the taste of him a welcome relief from the long day.

"Ready for bed, are we?" he teases, a playful grin on his face.

Yawning, I grab two glasses and begin filling them with the smoothie.

"What kind of milk did you use?" he asks, eyeing the vibrant concoction.

"Oat," I reply, though sharing the smoothie hadn't been part of the initial plan. "There's plenty."

He nods in appreciation and heads towards the stairs. "I'll shower and change first."

"Want some protein powder in yours?" I call after him. He pauses, turning his head to look at me. His warm green eyes sparkle with amusement. The warmth in his gaze heats me from the inside, and I cannot wait to tear off his clothes.

"Hmmmm...maybe I should come upstairs and help you?" I suggest, which results in that trademark smirk of his.

"Hmm, tempting offer." His gaze flickers to my pregnant stomach. "You sure you wouldn't rather have a real meal first? When was the last time you ate?"

I pout, knowing exactly how he'd react if I confess the truth.

He chuckles. "Right. Go ahead and have your appetiser. I'll grab a shower."

"Appetiser?" I echo, confused. "Are we having something else to eat?"

A sly grin spreads across his face. "One of us might be," he winks, a playful glint in his eye. With that, he disappears up the stairs, leaving me standing in the kitchen with the sound of his retreating footsteps.

Shit.

He's way too accomplished at making my inner juices boil.

Leaving Harry's smoothie untouched in the blender, I stir in a scoop of protein powder. After a final whir, I pour it into a tall glass. Carrying both drinks, I pad into the living room and settle onto the couch. Piper, sensing my presence, hops up and rests her head on my lap, a comforting weight that brings a pang to my heart. Life truly is precious.

Flipping through the channels, I search for a particular kind of comfort – a movie that's soft, predictable, something familiar that wouldn't tug at my already emotional heartstrings. This is no time for the drama of "Game of Thrones" or the emotional weight of "The Crown." I need fluff, something light and happy.

Finally, I land on "How to Train Your Dragon." The initial dragon fights won't bother me; I know they lead to sweet moments between Hiccup and Toothless, a reminder of the bond between human and creature. By the time Harry arrives downstairs, sporting comfy joggers and a hoodie, I'm deeply engrossed in the movie and its emotionality.

A pang of insecurity twinges at me. Wouldn't it be nice to knit or crochet something adorable for the baby? Alas, those skills remain elusive. How can I wield a scalpel with such a steady hand and yet have no ability to embroider?

Looking down, I spy my empty smoothie glass. Harry holds up a second empty one, a questioning smile on his face. I shrug playfully. "You snooze, you lose, mate."

He chuckles. "Feeling peckish already?"

"Nope," I reply, gently rubbing my belly. "But the little one does." A soft smile plays on my lips as Harry takes both glasses and leans down, his lips brushing against my rounded belly.

"Dinner is coming right up, my princess," he murmurs, his voice full of love and anticipation.

The clatter of pots and pans and the tantalising aroma of cooking fills the air, but I am lost in the world of "How to Train Your Dragon." The movie unfolds before me, each scene tugging at my heartstrings. Time blurs as Hiccup and Toothless form their bond, a reflection of the connection I yearn for with the tiny life growing inside me – and of the intense connection I already have with my sweet Piper.

When Harry finally appears, a plate heaped with vibrant salmon tacos in hand, the sudden shift back to reality startles me. My stomach rumbles in appreciation, but a pang of loneliness shoots through me. He settles next to me, watching the movie briefly before his gaze flickers to my face.

"Still a rough night, love?" he asks softly, his voice laced with concern. I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes away from the triumphant scene where Hiccup reunites Toothless with the ability to fly. My emotions are a maelstrom, mirroring the animated characters on the screen.

Harry sighs, scooting closer. "Alright," he murmurs, "just know I'm here for you."

Grateful for his unspoken support, I continue to watch, the movie's happy ending matching the hope blossoming in my chest. Turning to Harry, tears shimmering in my eyes, I am ready to share the emotional climax and rekindle our earlier intimacy.

But my heart sinks. He's fast asleep, lost in his own world, leaving me yearning for a connection that feels just out of reach.

Night after night continues in this vein. I purposely ignore the upcoming moment of doom regarding Piper, burying my head in the sand and pretending that nothing is wrong with my sweet girl, despite the fact that she's become more lethargic day over day.

The pattern is simple. Harry comes home to find a metaphorical replica of the Eyemouth Disaster of 1881. Wednesday night I watch 'Charlotte's Web'. Thursday, it's 'Free Willy'. And tonight, Friday, instead of going to the pub, I'm curled up on the couch sobbing over 'Chicken Run'.

When my fingers locate 'Marley and Me', Harry gently removes the remote from my hands.

"No." His voice is soft but firm. "Babe, you cannot keep doing this to yourself. It's not healthy. Not for you. Not for our child. Not for our relationship."

Pouting, I stomp upstairs to our room, slamming the door on him even though he's not tried to come inside. Of course, I allow Shortbread to join me, knowing that my sweet Piper is still lounging on the couch with her favourite man. Withdrawing into a tiny curled ball, I gather Shortbread close to me, ignoring how the bairn is shifting and kicking.

Harry is right, of course.

But that doesn't mean I have to admit it.