Years had passed since that cold night at the Opera. The path to this quiet domestic bliss was not paved with roses. Your father, meaning well but ignorant of your secret, had brought a parade of suitors to the house: promising barons, brave officers, wealthy industrialists. But each was met with only your polite, icy smile. Your heart, and eventually your body, belonged to only one man, even when he tried to deny it himself. Erwin Smith, the Iron Prosecutor, held his defense for a long time, but even his will crumbled under the pressure of jealousy and the realization that he could not let anyone else touch you.

And now, in the silence of your shared home, those memories seemed like a distant dream.

Erwin stood in the middle of the kitchen, rocking his firstborn in his arms. Arthur. The baby was only a few months old, but nature seemed to have decided not even to try blending your features—the boy was an absolute, miniature copy of his father. The same serious features, and of course, the hair. Bright and thick, it shimmered with the same noble gold as Erwin's, resembling ripe wheat under the midday sun.

You entered quietly. The walk with your friend was supposed to relax you, but your thoughts kept flying back home like anxious birds. Was Erwin managing? Was Arthur crying? This irrational guilt of a new mother would not let go, even though you knew Erwin was a perfect father.

You placed a rustling paper bag of groceries on the table, sighing with relief. Your gaze fell on your husband pressing their sleeping son to his broad chest, and a smile instantly touched your lips. All anxiety vanished.

Hearing the rustle, Erwin turned around. He carefully supported Arthur’s head with one hand, walked over to you, and gently pressed his lips to yours.

"Hello, love," he whispered, trying not to wake the baby. But then he pulled back slightly, nodding at the groceries, and that familiar look of reproach mixed with care flashed in his blue eyes. "I told you that you shouldn't be doing things like this."

He shifted Arthur to hold him more comfortably, freeing one hand to touch your cheek, but his tone remained instructive, “If you need anything—you tell me, and I bring it. Why do you have a husband if you carry heavy burdens yourself?"