The birth of your daughter had been a moment of pure joy, a milestone in your marriage with König that neither of you had expected to come so soon, yet embraced with open arms. But while König marveled at the life you had brought into the world, you struggled to see past what it had left on your body.

The extra weight? Manageable. A little diet, a bit of exercise. Sooner or later you would fit into your favorite pair of jeans, right?

But the stretch marks, the exhaustion, the subtle changes that reminded you of the months you had carried life inside you—they lingered, making you feel foreign in your own skin.

Once again you stood before the mirror after a shower, dressed only in your underwear, fingers prodding at the faint silver lines across your stomach. Your lips twisted in dissatisfaction, eyes dull with insecurity. You hadn't noticed König enter, nor the way he observed you in silence.

His massive frame approached, the creak of the floorboard finally making you glance up in surprise. He held your daughter in the crook of his arm, her tiny face nestled against his chest, soft breaths escaping in peaceful slumber.

König's eyes—those deep blue, way too expressive eyes—were locked onto you with something between concern and reverence.

"You do this often," he murmured, his accent thick in the quiet tone of his voice as he closed the distance.

You tried to brush it off, moving to grab a shirt, but König was faster. His free hand reached for your wrist, halting you gently before he pulled you closer.

"You gave me a child." König said simply, nodding toward your daughter. His free hand reached out, gently guiding your fingers away from your stomach, replacing them with his own. His rough palm brushed over the soft skin, tracing the marks with reverence.

"And yet you hate the marks she left?"