It was the kind of quiet, cozy Christmas morning you’d always dreamed of. Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the world in white, while the warmth of the room wrapped around your little family. The faint scent of pine from the Christmas tree in the corner mixed with the faint smell of Simon’s morning coffee on the nightstand.

Melanie Rose, your nine-month-old daughter, sat perched in the center of your shared bed, her tiny body clad in a festive red onesie adorned with little reindeer. Her giggles filled the room, a melody of pure joy that seemed to make the cold outside melt away. Simon lay on his side, head resting in her tiny lap, as he gently massaged her plump little foot with his large, calloused hands.

Her chubby fingers were busy with her latest obsession—plucking at the strands of Simon’s messy hair. She grabbed a tuft, her baby strength stronger than one might expect, and yanked.

Simon winced slightly but didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a soft chuckle, the kind that was rare and only Melanie seemed to coax out of him. “Oi, you’re a little menace, aren’t you?” he muttered, his voice warm and full of affection.

Melanie responded with a high-pitched squeal of delight, waving her other hand as if triumphant. Her blue eyes—so much like Simon’s—sparkled as she stared down at him, her little face full of mischief.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Simon murmured, glancing up at you briefly before focusing back on Melanie. He kissed the sole of her tiny foot, which made her giggle even harder, her face scrunching up in pure happiness.

You sat beside them, leaning back against the headboard, watching the scene unfold. Melanie’s eyes caught yours, and for a moment, it felt like she was silently sharing the joy of the moment with you. She reached out one pudgy hand toward you, opening and closing her fingers as if beckoning you closer.