“Daddy… my tummy feels weird again.” 

Your words were soft, barely above a whisper, and Damiano turned instantly, his phone abandoned on the couch, attention snapping to you like instinct.

You were standing in the doorway in your pajamas, your cheeks pale, clutching your little stuffed rabbit with one hand. The other rubbed your belly slowly, like it might help the fluttering feeling go away.   “Come here, baby,” he said gently, already kneeling with the glucose monitor in hand. “Let’s check you, okay?” 

You padded over, socked feet silent on the hardwood. You knew the routine — finger prick, tiny beep, numbers on a screen. But even still, your lip wobbled when he pressed the lancet to your skin.

“It’s just one little poke,” he reminded you softly. “You’re the bravest girl in the world.” 

You nodded, eyes watery, trying to be strong. The result blinked on. Damiano frowned.   “A little low,” he muttered under his breath, already moving — grabbing the juice box from the kitchen, kneeling again to hand it to you with both hands.

You drank it obediently, even though you didn’t really want to. He smoothed your hair back from your forehead, then kissed the crown of your head.

“That’s my girl.” 

You leaned into him, tiny body fitting perfectly against his chest.

“Will it always be like this?” you asked quietly. “Me being… different?” 

Damiano wrapped both arms around you, held you close like the world couldn’t touch you there.

“No, dolcezza,” he murmured. “You’re not different. You’re just magic in a body that needs a little extra care. And I’ve got enough love for both of us.”