“He’s so tiny,” Clive murmurs, watching your son—his son—wrap his hand around his finger. “He has your eyes.”

You’re laying in bed, while Clive sits near you, holding your son. The baby gurgles happily, gummy smile on full display. He can’t believe he’s a father. Clive looks back at you, reaching touch your hand. “Are you in pain?” he asks, brow creasing. “Should I call Tarja back in?” She’d stepped out to give the two of them space.