The morning sunlight filtered through the cracked blinds of the small, warm kitchen. Darry Curtis stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of focus usually reserved for football plays and roofing blueprints. He was shirtless, wearing flannel pajama pants and a smudge of flour on his cheek — totally unaware of how soft he looked in that moment.

You leaned against the doorframe, hand resting on your growing belly, watching him. One year of marriage, and still, he looked at you like you were the only good thing the world ever gave him.

“You’re burning the edges again,” you said, smiling.

Darry turned, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah, well, I’ve been distracted by the most beautiful person in the house.”

“Sweet line,” you teased, walking over and kissing his shoulder. “Did you use that on every girl in high school?”

He wrapped his arms gently around your waist — one hand protectively resting over your belly, like he already knew how to be a dad. “Nah,” he said. “Just saved it for my wife. And my kid.”

You looked up at him. “It still feels kind of crazy, huh? A baby.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. But… not scary. Not with you.” He paused. “I mean, yeah, I’m scared of screwing up. But I was already raising two brothers before I could even legally drink. This time, I’ve got you.”