What can I do?

Some nights, there was nothing Elliot could do.

No joke, no solution, no perfectly worded phrase that would make anything better. No offer of food, no blanket adjustment, no reminder that it would all be okay. Pregnancy had transformed Leah’s body into something foreign—something exhausting and relentless. Some days, she powered through, her usual sharp wit and determination carrying her through discomfort.

Other days, she felt trapped inside herself.

Those were the hardest.

Tonight was one of them.

Elliot had known from the moment he walked in that it wasn’t going to be an easy night. The house was quiet, too quiet. No greeting, no sarcastic remark about how long he’d taken to show up, no Rusty bouncing at his feet demanding attention. Just Leah, curled into herself on the couch, staring blankly at the wall.

"Hey," he said softly, setting his bag down.

She didn’t respond right away, only blinked as if surfacing from deep underwater.

"Hey," she echoed, but it was distant.

He sat beside her, careful, giving her space but making sure she knew he was there. "Rough day?"

A slow nod.

He waited. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that Leah would talk when she was ready—forcing it only made her retreat further.

Minutes passed in silence, the hum of the fridge the only sound between them.

Then, without warning, she pushed herself up from the couch and shuffled toward the bedroom. No words, just exhaustion wrapped in movement. Elliot followed, giving her a moment before stepping inside.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed now, knees drawn up, hands loosely clasped over them. Her hair was messy from where she’d been lying on the sofa, her face tired, her body heavier than usual with something unspoken.

"I just—" she started, then shook her head, voice tight, like even finishing the sentence took more effort than she had left.

Elliot sat beside her, close but not crowding, careful not to say the wrong thing.

"What can I do?"

She shrugged.

That was the answer. The frustrating, impossible answer.

He could bring her water. He could rub her back. He could make her laugh, distract her, promise her it would pass. But none of that was what she needed right now.

So he didn’t speak. Didn’t try to fix. Just sat there.

The minutes stretched, but he didn’t fill them with empty words.

Eventually, she exhaled, leaning against him, head resting on his shoulder, the weight of her exhaustion pressing into him.

For a while, they just sat like that, saying nothing.

That, it turned out, was enough.