This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental. As a non-native English speaker (I’m Swedish), please forgive the occasional grammatical error or awkward phrasing.

Characters:
Me, Steve 28
Anna, 28, my friend’s wife, very pregnant

Ok, ready to go? Let’s roll.

The Glow of Pregnant Anna 1 - Annual summer party

The firm’s annual summer party had outdone itself this year. They’d rented a country estate just beyond the city limits, wide green lawns, white canopy tents, and string lights poised to flicker to life as dusk settled in. A jazz trio played slow, familiar covers from a small stage tucked near the hedges, while trays of cocktails and grilled skewers moved seamlessly through the crowd.
It was the kind of place where people loosened their ties but still tried to impress.

That’s when I saw her - Anna, 8 months pregnant.

She stood at the edge of the terrace, not far from the rose garden, sipping sparkling water from a tall glass. Eight months pregnant, maybe more, it showed clearly, beautifully. Her belly arched outward beneath a pale yellow dress, cotton or linen, cinched just above her waist with a soft tie. The fabric floated around her like sunlight spun into cloth. One hand rested lightly on the curve of her stomach, the other tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked serene. Entirely at ease.

I recognized her immediately, and beside her, Lars, her husband, looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in years. He wore a casual button-down, sleeves rolled, loafers dusted with lawn. A good friend of mine. We started at the firm around the same time, same brutal onboarding week, same late-night pitch to Berlin in 2019. He was quiet but sharp, the kind of person who caught everything without saying much. We’d shared more than a few dry glances across chaotic Monday meetings.

He and Anna got married last year. And now here she was: radiant in the golden hour, her hand resting protectively on the life she carried.

They made an interesting pair. Her thoughtful, inward stillness balanced by his grounded calm. Some called him boring. I always thought he just moved at a quieter frequency. That evening, it almost felt like the party moved around her instead of with her, people orbiting gently, drawn in by the glow.
Everyone wanted to greet her, to touch her rounded belly like it held some kind of blessing.

Later, as the fairy lights flickered on and the wine loosened conversations, I found myself watching her again. We hadn’t spoken since that night, the quiet, stolen kiss in her kitchen, a year ago now. We never talked about it. We didn’t have to. But I still carried it with me, like a folded note in a jacket pocket.

She stood alone now, facing the garden, cradling her belly absently, like she was listening to something only she could hear.

So I walked over.

She saw me approach, and her expression shifted, not alarm, not surprise, but something softer. A hesitation, maybe. She offered a polite smile, the kind you give someone you’re not sure you’re supposed to miss.

“Hey,” I said quietly.

I glanced down, suddenly aware of the quiet miracle in front of me. Her dress, light yellow, with tiny white buttons down the front, fluttered slightly in the evening breeze. Her belly was full, beautifully round, the kind that almost demanded reverence. Not just because it signaled new life, but because she wore it so gracefully, with an ease I couldn’t help but admire.

“Hi.” Her voice was light, a little airy. She glanced down at her glass, then back at me. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

“I figured the same.”

A short silence fell between us. The breeze stirred the hem of her dress, and the scent of rosemary from the nearby planters drifted in. I gestured toward her belly, a cautious smile on my face.

“You look ... beautiful,” I said, meaning every word.

She exhaled, almost laughed, like she wasn’t sure how to receive it. “Thanks. I feel ... very large.”

We both chuckled. It helped, for a moment.

Then the quiet returned.

“I wasn’t sure if I should say anything,” I admitted. “About ... well. The last time.”

Her gaze lingered on mine. Honest. Unflinching.

“Neither was I.”

More silence, but this time, it felt full instead of empty. Her hand rested on her belly again, almost absentmindedly.

“This can’t be anything,” she said finally. Her voice was low, barely above the background music and conversation around us. “Whatever that was, in the kitchen, it can’t happen again.”

I nodded slowly. “I know.”

“I care about Lars,” she continued, eyes fixed on the garden now. “This baby. My life. I chose all of this.”

“I know,” I said again, softer this time. “Me too.”

We stood there, side by side, not touching. Not even looking at each other. But something passed between us anyway, not longing, exactly, but a kind of shared grief for a version of ourselves we’d never get to explore.

After a moment, she turned to me and gave the smallest, saddest smile.

“I think I’ll head in,” she said. “Starting to get tired.”

“Of course.”

She turned, walked slowly back toward the house, graceful, luminous, quiet as always.

I stayed there a while longer, hands in my pockets, watching the string lights sway gently overhead.

Whatever had sparked between us once, it was still there. But so was the line we couldn’t, and wouldn’t, cross.

Not anymore.

The Glow of Pregnant Anna 2 - The School Days

It wasn’t dramatic back then either, nothing you’d call a “high school romance.” We were never officially a couple. Just two people who always seemed to find each other in the margins.

We met in the last year of gymnasium, not through friends, but through proximity. Our lockers were close, our last names not far apart on the roster. We had English together. She always sat two rows behind me, near the window, twisting her pen absentmindedly when she wasn’t scribbling notes in that small, slanted handwriting of hers.

Certain images never leave you. I remember her reading aloud once, The Catcher in the Rye, I think. Her voice was soft, not theatrical like some of the others. But she gave the words weight, like she knew exactly how they were meant to land. Everyone had gone quiet by the end of the paragraph.

We weren’t inseparable, nothing like that. But we always seemed to end up talking. In the hallway. By the vending machines. After school, we waited for the bus when it rained together. She wore these oversized sweaters and always carried a novel that wasn’t part of any assigned reading.

There was a moment once, insignificant, maybe, but it stayed with me. We were at a friend’s party, sitting on the stairs away from the music. She was holding a red plastic cup, playing with the rim. I said something, I can’t remember what, that made her laugh in that unguarded way people do when they forget to be careful. She leaned her head on my shoulder for a second. Just a second. But long enough for me to wish she hadn’t moved it.

We didn’t kiss. Not then. It was one of those near things. A flicker. Something we both felt but never named.

After graduation, we drifted like most people do. Different universities. Different lives.

And yet, when I saw her again, years later at a finance event with Lars, it was like someone had pressed play on a memory I didn’t know I’d stored away. She still had that quiet gravity. Still wore her hair half up, like she couldn’t decide whether she cared.

And when she looked at me, really looked, I wondered if she remembered those stairs too.

The Glow of Pregnant Anna 3 - The First Kiss

It was late summer, last year. The heat had finally broken. That kind of early September day where the sun is soft and gold instead of sharp and white. The city had quieted, vacations were ending, and inboxes were waking back up. Most people were easing reluctantly back into routine.

Anna texted me late in the afternoon.

“Lars is stuck at a client dinner. I accidentally bought way too much wine and made too much pasta. If you’re not busy...”

I told myself it was nothing. Just friendly. Just dinner. A bottle of wine didn’t mean anything. And still, I brought the good one from my shelf, the one I’d been saving, though I hadn’t known what for.

Her place was warm, lived-in. The lights dimmed low. She wore a faded blue dress that clung just enough to make me forget how to breathe for a second. Her hair was loose, her feet bare. She looked completely at ease. I, on the other hand, had no idea what I was doing there.

We ate in the kitchen, elbows brushing occasionally at the narrow table. She talked about a book she was reading, something about women and silence, and I mostly listened, grateful for every excuse to watch her mouth move. The wine softened everything, made us both slower, more honest.

After dinner, she offered coffee. I declined.

“You always do,” she said, smiling as she rinsed our glasses. “You’re afraid to stay too long.”

“I’m not,” I said, surprising myself. “Not tonight.”

She turned, drying her hands on a towel. The air shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough.

We stood there, neither of us making the first move, and then we both did.
Or maybe it was no move at all, just the space between us finally collapsing under the weight of what had been hanging there all these months.

The kiss wasn’t hungry or frantic. It was quiet. Intentional. Her lips brushed mine like a question, and I answered without words. We paused once, breath shared, eyes barely open, and then kissed again, deeper this time, slower.

When we pulled away, she didn’t speak. Just looked at me, searching, like she wanted to be sure she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

“We shouldn’t...” she began.

“I know.”

But neither of us moved.

We stood there, in the half-light of her kitchen, with the sound of the dishwasher starting in the background and the taste of wine on our lips. And even if nothing more had happened that night, and it didn’t, something between us had already changed. Quietly. Irreversibly.

The Glow of Pregnant Anna - 4. 5 months pregnant, the second kiss

It happened quietly. Not with fireworks or reckless abandon, but in that hushed, breath-held way when something long denied finally slips into the light.

I think it was October, since the leaves had all fallen off the trees. The air had that crispness to it, the kind that makes you reach for a jacket but leave it unzipped.

I didn’t expect to hear from her after our kiss a few months back, and I felt awful about that, since she must’ve been pregnant already. I figured whatever tension had passed between us would dissolve into the noise of real life, the slow gravitational pull of responsibility of Motherhood and Marriage.

And then, one afternoon, a message.

“Would you mind helping me with something at the house? Lars is away, and I can’t need help moving some things from the baby’s room.”

I stared at the message for longer than I care to admit. A few hours later, I found myself standing on their front steps with my sleeves rolled up and a bag of groceries I grabbed on the way, unsure why.

She looked different, softer, a little tired, but no less luminous. Her hair was tied up messily, and she wore a loose grey sweater and black leggings. No makeup. Still stunning.

We talked quietly. Moved around each other like people learning a new kind of distance.

I helped with the stuff in Leo’s room (they already knew the sex and had decided on Leo), unpacked groceries, and replaced a dead lightbulb.
Mundane things. But every moment was wrapped in something more, in the way her fingers brushed mine when she handed me a dish towel, or how she lingered just a breath too long next to me in the kitchen.

“Can I ask you something, Steve?” Anna’s voice was low, almost shy, as her fingers played with the hem of her shirt.

“Of course,” I said, trying to focus on her eyes instead of the gigantic cleavage or the curve of her belly or the glimmer of sadness flickering just beneath her smile.
“Are you OK?” I continued.
“Yes, let’s sit down, ok?” she said, and we sat down on their couch in the living room.
“You have to promise me something,” she said, tilting her head with a tentative smile. “You have to tell me the truth.”

I nodded, curious and uneasy all at once. “I will. What’s going on?”

She hesitated, then drew a breath like she was preparing herself for something fragile. “Do you ... like me?”

“Anna,” I said, a bit thrown. “Of course I do. You know that. I care about both of you. But what’s this really about?”

She hesitated again, her hand resting gently on her round belly. “I found Lars ... watching porn. But not just any kind. It was ... of thin, skinny women, not fat and ugly pregnant women, like me.”

“Oh,” I said, unsure how to react.

“And...” I could see tears filling her eyes. “He ... he won’t come near me. Won’t touch me. Says he’s scared he’ll hurt the baby but...” Her voice cracked, and she looked away, blinking rapidly to fight the tears. “I think it’s more than that. I think maybe he just doesn’t find me attractive anymore.”

I stared at her, speechless. “Wait. Are you telling me ... You two aren’t...?”

She gave a small, embarrassed nod. “You mean fuck ... It’s ok to say it, you know. No, he says it’s about the baby, but ... Steve, I think it’s me. I feel like he looks at me and just sees something ... grotesque.”

“Anna,” I said, gently placing my hand over hers. “That’s not true. Look Anna, that’s bullshit. Most men believe that pregnant women are beautiful.”

She looked up at me, her expression vulnerable, eyes searching mine.
“Be honest with me. Do you think I’m ... still beautiful?”

I smiled, unable to help it. “Anna, I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”

“Okay,” she said with a soft laugh. “But compared to before ... before I was pregnant?”

“No contest,” I said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “You’re more beautiful now. To be honest, I always thought you were too skinny, but now ... You’ve filled out in ways that make you even more ... you. Your face is softer, your ass is nicer, and my God, your breasts ... and, not the least that Belly ... You’ve got this glow about you, and, okay, I’ll say it, your curves are driving me crazy.”

She laughed, a sound that was part surprise, part relief. “You really mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

There was a long, electric pause. Then she stepped closer, her arms sliding up around my neck, her belly gently pressing against me. “Steve,” she whispered, “if I asked you to prove it ... if I asked you to make me feel wanted again ... would you?”

My heart thudded. “Anna...”

“No, I’m serious, make love to me ... Fuck me...”

My mind reeled as my mind built an image of Anna, her legs spread and her pregnant pussy laying wide open for my throbbing cock. I blinked and looked at her again.

“I’m not asking for forever. I’m not asking you to fix my life. I just ... I need to feel something. Someone.” Her voice trembled, but her gaze held steady.
“I need to feel like a woman again. Not just a body carrying a child. Just ... loved. For a little while. Someone that you find attractive, someone that can make your cock hard ... and I want a cock in my pussy ... It’s been so long. Just a meaningless fuck.”

I swallowed hard, caught in that moment where reason slips away and only instinct remains.

“You’re not just anyone, Anna,” I said quietly. “That wouldn’t be meaningless for me.”

She smiled, a little sadly. “That’s exactly why I’m asking you.”

Her hand came to rest lightly on my chest. I could feel the warmth of her fingers even through the fabric.

“Steve ... I’ve thought about that day,” she said, eyes fixed on mine. “In the kitchen.”

“So have I,” I said.

My breath caught, and then, there it was.

I hesitated for only a breath before she closed the distance between us. Our lips met, softly at first, then with growing urgency, her need pouring into the kiss like a storm breaking after long, aching silence. Her hands pulled me closer, and I didn’t resist. I couldn’t.

The kiss wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t rush. It was quiet and sure, the way rain falls on a roof after hours of stillness. Her lips were warm, soft, familiar, and completely new. We kissed like people who’d already lived with the silence between them, who knew exactly what they were giving in to.

When we finally parted, breathless, I opened my eyes and looked down at her, still wrapped in that moment. She looked up at me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t hiding.

Neither of us said anything for a long time. She leaned her forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“I don’t know what this is,” she whispered. “I’m sorry Steve ... You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Neither do I, but you’re right, we can’t do that. I so want to, but ... You’re pregnant with my friend’s baby...”

But we both knew, in that fragile, suspended moment, this wasn’t the moment. But...

The Glow of Pregnant Anna 5 - The pool party

Two weeks after the summer party, Lars and Anna hosted a casual pool afternoon at their place. Nothing big, just a dozen friends, cold drinks, and the promise of grilled halloumi, pork loin, Greek salad, and homemade tzatziki. Their townhouse had a small backyard, neat and shaded, with a pool and ivy creeping up one fence like something out of a magazine spread.

Anna greeted everyone at the gate with that same effortless grace.
Her pregnancy was unreliably sexy; she was into her ninth month, and she had the kind of belly that looked as if it defied gravity, round and high beneath a loose white linen sundress. It had thin straps, and the fabric clung slightly when the breeze lifted. Her skin had caught a little sun since the last time I saw her, and she moved slowly, deliberately, not fragile, just careful. She wore no shoes, only a silver anklet that flashed when she turned.

Lars hovered around her with a kind of nervous energy, like a scared daddy-to-be, offering Anna cushions, drinks, a chair in the shade - everything but actual rest, and sex ... She smiled at him in that affectionate, tired way people do when they love someone but want them to sit down and stop fussing.

The afternoon rolled on in that sleepy, sun-drenched way. People drifted in and out of the pool. The grill hissed and smoked. A Bluetooth speaker played an unbothered playlist of soft funk and summery indie.

It was later, maybe around six, when I wandered inside looking for a glass of water.
The kitchen was empty, and the tiled floor was cool under my feet.
I stood by the fridge with the door open when I heard her voice behind me.

“Hydrating properly?”

I turned. She was leaning against the doorway, one hand on her lower back, the other cradling the underside of her belly like it was something she’d grown protective of, which, of course, it was.

I offered a small smile. “Trying to. You hiding from the chaos?”

“Five minutes,” she said, exhaling. “That’s all I need.”

She stepped inside, brushing past me, close, too close. Our arms didn’t touch, but the air shifted.
I could feel the warmth of her body, the nearness of her. She opened a cupboard slowly, eyes scanning, not really looking for anything.

“I don’t think anyone’s noticed we disappeared,” she said.

“Should they?” I asked.

Her lips curved, not quite a smile. “Probably not.”

I leaned against the counter beside her, arms folded. Neither of us said anything for a few seconds.

Then she glanced sideways. “You always get so quiet around me,” she said softly.

“Maybe I don’t trust myself to say the right thing.”

Anna raised an eyebrow, amused. “Who said I was looking for the right thing?”

She stepped a little closer. Close enough that I could see the faint freckles on her collarbone.
Close enough that I had to stop breathing for a moment. She smelled like coconut sunscreen and something faintly floral. Her belly touched the edge of the counter when she leaned slightly, resting her hands behind her on the granite.

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” she said, looking at me. Her voice was quiet but sure.

“I know,” I replied. And it was true, no lines crossed. Not really, just an innocent kiss months ago. But the way we looked at each other, the way the silence hung between us, it was loaded, charged, impossible to ignore.

I reached past her, slowly, opened the cupboard, and grabbed a clean glass.

“Water?” I offered.

She smiled. “Only if you stay and drink one with me.”

So we did. Side by side in that quiet kitchen while the party drifted on outside, we drank our water slowly and didn’t say much. But everything unsaid was louder than anything that passed between our lips.

The Glow of Pregnant Anna 6 - The night we fucked

It was a quiet Friday evening, the kind where the whole world feels wrapped in velvet.

It had rained earlier that day, not hard, just enough to leave the air clean and full of that soft, earthy scent. The city outside her windows was quiet, softened by mist, as if even the streets had decided to take a breath.

She was wearing a long, pale blue cotton dress that hugged her figure gently and fell just below her knees. It had tiny mother-of-pearl buttons down the front, most of them undone because of the heat. The fabric clung softly to her curves, and the swell of her belly made her look like some ancient goddess, powerful, glowing, beautiful beyond words. Her hair was loose, brushed back behind her ears, and there was a flush to her cheeks from the warmth and from something else, something deeper. Anticipation, maybe. Or longing.

Candlelight flickered behind her in the room, a soft amber glow that pooled on the hardwood floor and lit her skin in waves.

She looked ... calm. Not hesitant, not performative. Just present. Like she had finally stopped running from the thing we’d both been pretending wasn’t there.