It was a rare day off. No filming. No soundcheck. Just Dublin, quietly alive with the hum of Saturday, and the three of them—Barry, Sabrina, and little {{user}}—walking hand in hand through St. Stephen’s Green.

The pram remained forgotten a few paces behind, pushed more out of obligation than use. {{user}} had insisted on walking, small boots pattering across the cobblestone path, her fingers curled tightly around each of theirs.

“She’s getting too big for the stroller,” Barry murmured with a grin, glancing down at their daughter who was currently concentrating very hard on not stepping on any cracks.

“She’s two,” Sabrina laughed softly, pulling her hoodie up a little tighter. “You act like she’s off to college.”

Barry gave her a playful nudge with his shoulder. “Feels like it.”

Sabrina smiled, her eyes fixed on {{user}}. Her little beanie was slipping, curls peeking out messily from beneath it. The tiny girl let out a squeal when she spotted a pigeon, nearly dragging both parents toward it in excitement.

“You’re gonna scare it!” Sabrina said, laughing.

“It’s just a pigeon, babe,” Barry added, but he let her pull him anyway.

It was natural, this moment—too natural for two people who weren’t technically together anymore. The rhythm of co-parenting had become second nature, but moments like this… they still made the lines blur.

They stopped at a corner near Grafton Street. Buskers played guitar in the background. The breeze was light, and the scent of cinnamon rolls from a nearby bakery drifted past. Barry crouched to fix {{user}}’s scarf while Sabrina pulled out a tiny juice box from the diaper bag she still carried like a badge of honor.

And that’s when someone recognized them.

Two girls across the street. Then three. Then a couple on their phones, whispering.