The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the living room. Soft music played in the background, blending with the quiet hum of domestic bliss. You were curled up on the couch, half-watching a movie, half-watching Drew and your son, who were sprawled out on the floor, playing with blocks.

Your little boy—barely two years old and already the sweetest thing on earth—stacked another block onto his tiny tower, his chubby fingers steady and focused. His dark lashes brushed against his soft cheeks as he concentrated, his little brows furrowing just like Drew’s when he was deep in thought.

Drew, lying on his stomach beside him, propped himself up on one elbow. “Buddy, I think that one’s gonna tip,” he warned, grinning.

Your son looked up at him, bright blue eyes—Drew’s exact shade—shining with excitement. “Nooo,” he giggled, placing one last block on top.

The moment he let go, the whole tower wobbled dramatically before toppling over. Your son gasped, then let out the most infectious belly laugh, clapping his hands.

Drew groaned playfully, burying his face in the rug. “Oh no, we were so close!”

You laughed from the couch, shaking your head. “Drew, I think you’re more invested in this than he is.”

Drew lifted his head, shooting you a smirk. “Listen, babe, this is serious business.” Then, looking back at your son, he whispered, “Mommy just doesn’t get it, huh?”

Your son giggled, shaking his head dramatically. “Nooo!”

Drew gasped in mock offense. “Traitor!” He rolled onto his back, pulling your son onto his chest. The little boy snuggled into him without hesitation, his tiny hands gripping Drew’s shirt.

Your heart swelled at the sight.

Drew looked over at you, his face soft with something unspoken. “He’s getting so big,” he murmured, running a gentle hand over your son’s back.

“I know,” you sighed, setting your mug down and sliding off the couch to sit beside them. Your son lifted his sleepy gaze to you, blinking slow and sweet.