The sun is melting into the horizon, turning the quiet street gold. You walk a few steps behind, watching Simon in front of you with that small, steady smile you love so much.

Hazel is skipping at his side, her small hand tucked securely in his, telling him about the seashell she found earlier.

“It was pink, Daddy, really pink,” she says, swinging her arm a little.

“Was it now?” Simon’s voice is warm, calm, amused. “Pink’s rare, you know. You’ll have to show me where you found it tomorrow.”

Hazel beams up at him, her curls catching the light.

Perched high on Simon’s shoulders, Willa lets out a delighted squeal as he bounces her gently. “Higher!” she demands, giggling when he obliges by taking a longer step.

“Careful, bug,” he chuckles, one big hand keeping her steady as she leans forward, chin resting in his hair.

And then there’s Elsie—your littlest—tucked against his chest in the sling, fast asleep. Her tiny fingers are curled into the fabric of his shirt, her little head rising and falling with each of his steps.

The sight of all of them together—his big frame holding so much of your little world—makes something ache beautifully in your chest.

“You’re a walking jungle gym,” you tease softly, and Simon glances back at you with a grin.

“Comes with the job description,” he replies, his voice low so as not to wake Elsie.

Hazel looks over her shoulder at you. “Mummy, Daddy said we can get ice cream after dinner.”