The sharp, urgent cry of your and Jasper’s newborn pierced the quiet of the night, jolting you awake. You instinctively moved to sit up, your heart racing with that familiar surge of parental instinct, but Jasper’s hand landed gently on your shoulder, firm yet comforting, guiding you back down onto the bed.

“I got this, Sunny…you need to rest,” he murmured softly, his voice low and soothing in the dark. He pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, then another to your cheek, and lingered for a moment, letting the warmth of his presence anchor you.

Slowly, he rose and moved toward the door, each step quiet, measured, a soft rhythm of reassurance against the stillness of the house. You could hear the faint shuffle of his feet fade gradually, merging with the muted whimpers of your baby, until the sound disappeared entirely as he reached the nursery. Curling back under the blankets, you felt the tension drain from your body, your eyelids heavy, comforted by the knowledge that Jasper had it handled—and that soon, the soft cries would be soothed, and peace would return to the room.