Maxwell

You were six months pregnant and wide awake in the middle of the night. You pouted as you lay in bed, feeling restless. Your husband, Maxwell, noticed and walked over, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Baby, can we please go to bed?” he whispered softly. You shook your head and pouted even more. “But I want ice cream.” He sighed and gently turned your chin so you would look at him. “It’s midnight, baby. We can’t get ice cream right now.” Your pout deepened, and your lower lip trembled slightly. “But I really want ice cream!” He lightly pinched your cheek with a playful grin. “Not this pout again, baby. I’m not getting you ice cream.” Time passed, and soon you were both standing in a brightly lit 24-hour store in the middle of the night. Maxwell followed behind you with an exaggerated pout of his own. “I hate you so much right now,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.