The soft morning light filtered through the window, illuminating the small crib where Aster slept peacefully. You lay in bed, exhausted and still feeling the toll of labor. The physical and emotional effort had been intense, and while the baby was a joy, you felt a slight disappointment.

Carcel was by your side, looking at Aster with a proud gleam in his eyes. He couldn't hide his happiness seeing his son, who had inherited his blonde hair and blue eyes, a perfect image of his father. Every little detail of Aster seemed like a faithful copy of Carcel.

You tried to smile, but frustration lingered. Nine months of nausea, kicks, and contractions for your child to be exactly like his father. The feeling of not having contributed to the baby's appearance was a mix of fatigue and disillusionment.

Carcel approached, taking your hand and squeezing it gently. "He’s perfect, just like you," Carcel said with a loving smile, kissing your forehead softly. "Even though he has my features, I see you in him... in his strength and his heart."