"Are you pickle-shaming me right now?"
"Maybe a little."
She finally looks up, and there's a hint of a smile on her face. "They're good pickles. Don't knock it until you try an entire jar by yourself while sitting in the car."
"Is that what you're doing now? Eating pickles in the car?"
The smile fades. Her voice cracks on the last word. "Sometimes."
"I should get ready for my meeting," I say instead.
She nods and goes back to her laptop. She's not really working. Just staring at the screen.
I head to our bedroom and spot Emma's briefcase by the door—the expensive leather one she bought when she opened her practice. It's open, papers sticking out at odd angles. Not like Emma at all. She's meticulous about organization.
The merger offer from Preston & Associates is right on top, as if she wanted me to see it but couldn't bring herself to actually show me.
I shouldn't read it. It's her business, her decision.
But the folder is literally sticking out of her briefcase in our bedroom, and I'm worried about my wife, so I pull it out and skim the terms.
Preston & Associates wants to absorb Emma's practice. They're offering partnership—not just employment, but actual equity in the firm. The salary makes my wine review income look like pocket change. Full benefits package, including health insurance, dental, vision, and?—
I stop at the maternity leave section.
Sixteen weeks paid leave. Option to return part-time for six months. Full health coverage for prenatal and postnatal care. Childcare stipend.
The timing is coincidental.
I flip through the rest of the contract. Emma would keep her existing clients, maintain autonomy over her cases, but gain access to two associate attorneys and full administrative support. No more eighty-hour weeks. No more drowning in work. An actual sustainable career.
It's a good offer. Better than good.
But accepting it means admitting she can't handle her solo practice by herself. And for Emma, who built everything from nothing, who proved all the doubters wrong—that's the hard part.
I put the folder back exactly how I found it and sit on the bed, pieces clicking together.
Pregnant. Drowning in work. Brennen's vote due Friday. Shadow Strike case looming. Preston wants an answer by end of week.
Everything's converging on Friday. Every major decision, every life change, all of it crashing together in forty-eight hours.
And Emma's carrying it alone.
I know that feeling. Spent years in the SEALs believing I had to be invincible. Took me a long time to learn that strength isn't about handling everything alone. It's about knowing when to lean on your team.
Emma needs to learn that lesson. And I need to show her she has a team.
But I can't tell her I know. I need to be subtle. Supportive. Create space where she feels safe telling me when she's ready.
I pull out my phone and start researching. Pregnancy symptoms. First trimester care. Foods to avoid. What expectant fathers should know. I bookmark a dozen articles, save them to a private folder, and start making mental notes.
Bland foods that won't trigger nausea. Plenty of water. No alcohol around her. Create space for her to rest without making it obvious I'm worried.
And apparently, invest in a pickle company.
My phone buzzes with a text from Ryan.
Ryan:Brennen's freaking out about Emma's vote. You know what's going on?
