Morgan was in the kitchen, hurriedly trying to finish a tuna sandwich before Emily got home because the smell made her sick, when the front door burst open.
"Em..." he started to say, but before he could even get through her name, the door had already slammed shut and she was flying up the stairs without looking back. "...ily," he finished lamely.
He frowned. This wasn't like her at all; usually, after going to the hair salon, she'd seek out his opinion. He followed her upstairs and into the bedroom, only to find that she'd shut herself in the bathroom. He tried the door, but it was locked. Worried, he knocked sharply. "Baby, what is it? What happened?" When he got no response, he tried again, "Baby, please come out. I'll break open the door if I have to."
"Don't come in!" she called back, examining herself critically in the mirror, feeling tears welling up. "I don't want you to see..."
"Baby, please. You're scaring me," he said, hearing quiet sobs through the door. "Please, let me in. I'm worried..."
"No!" she insisted, "I'm not letting you come in and I'm not coming out."
"Emily," he sighed, praying that it wasn't anything serious. "Baby, please... I'll kick the door open if I have to. Please come out, Princess. Talk to me..."
"No! Don't come in!" she sobbed, "It's horrible. The stylist completely ruined my hair. I look awful." She wiped the tears away with the heel of her hand, wishing that she hadn't gone to the salon that morning.
Morgan shook his head. "I highly doubt that. No one can make you look awful, you're beautiful," he insisted. "Come on, baby, please let me in. I'm worried..."
"You don't understand!" Emily said frustratedly. "All I wanted was a simple trim! She took five inches off! It makes my nose stand out more!" She brushed her tears away. "I hate it!"
He knew her tears and mood swings were all part of her pregnancy. He had seen her hormones driving her crazy – she would be wanting to tear his clothes off one second and the next second she'd be crying because they had run out of apple juice. He tried to be more understanding, but sometimes it was hard because he never knew when she'd go from a sweet and loving woman to a crying mess.
"I don't believe it. I know you're beautiful no matter how the stylist cut your hair," he insisted. "Baby, please open the door. You can't stay in there forever; come on out and we can talk properly."
"I don't want to..." she whispered, sniffling, "I don't want you to see it."
"Baby, just come out. I want to see my beautiful wife." Still, he heard nothing. "You're scaring me..."
Emily sighed heavily, once again examining her hair. "Fine..." she said slowly, "But you're not going to like it." With a deep, calming breath, she unlocked the door, stepping out into the bedroom. She crossed her arms over her chest insecurely, her red-rimmed, tear-glazed eyes refusing to meet his.
He let out a sigh of relief once he saw her, having feared the worst. Gently running his fingers through her hair, he smiled as he studied her. Whatever it was she was seeing that she qualified as awful, he just didn't see.
"Well..." she said faintly after a long moment of silence, feeling his gaze boring intently into her, "Tell me what you think. Be honest."
"You look beautiful," he said seriously. "I like it a lot. You've been keeping your hair long for awhile and this is a nice change." He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, smiling softly. "I'm so lucky to have a gorgeous wife like you."
Her bottom lip wobbled a little as she struggled not to burst into tears again. "Really?" she asked in a whisper. "You know, you don't have to lie to make me feel better just because I'm pregnant... I know it looks terrible."
"Yes. I think you look beautiful," he insisted again. "I'm not patronizing you. You know I'd never lie to you. I really think you look amazing with your new haircut." He smiled, stroking her hair. "I love how it falls on your shoulders. I remember that the first time I met you, your hair was about this length and you're still just as beautiful."
Emily sniffled softly, leaning heavily against his chest and wrapping her arms around him. "I still don't like it," she said stubbornly.
"Why not?" he murmured softly, wrapping his arms tightly around her and gently rubbing her back. "I think you look breath-taking. You look just as beautiful as the day I met you."
"I just don't like it!" she snapped sharply. "And you know what else I don't like? I don't like that stupid thing on your face you call a beard."
Morgan raised his brows, but didn't say anything. He had learned the hard way that when a woman was angry – especially one who was pregnant and her hormones were driving her crazy – the best thing anyone could do was to shut up and let her say what she wanted to.
"It looks stupid! And I hate that every time I kiss you, it scratches my skin," she said angrily. "I hate the way it feels. I don't know what you were thinking! It's just awful."
"Why didn't you say anything sooner?" he asked softly, gently running his hands up and down her arms.
"Because you liked it," she sighed, "And I didn't want to be the nagging wife. I thought maybe you'd come to your senses, but you obviously don't see that it looks terrible."
"You should have told me," he murmured, "I'd never think of you as the nagging wife. If I had known, I would have gotten rid of it right away."
She pushed away, turning her back to him as a sob escaped. "Why are you giving in to me? I'm being so unreasonable..."
"You're allowed to be unreasonable – you're my wife and you're having my babies." He moved to rest his chin on her shoulder, interlacing their fingers and wrapping his arms around her waist so their hands rested on her slight baby bump. "Besides, I love you and I want to make you happy. I want to be able to kiss my wife without making her uncomfortable."
She leaned back against his chest, deflating a little. "I'm sorry I got angry with you," she whispered, "I didn't mean to shout. It's just the hormones..."
He smiled. "Don't be sorry; I know it's hard on you." He gently turned her head, leaning in to kiss her, but quickly thought better of it, pulling back. "I'll get rid of this and kiss you later."