"Im sure they're gonna pick us up any minute now and take us to the recovery room." I say as I watch you nervously pacing the waiting room of the pediatric unit of the Royal London Hospital.

We're currently waiting for our daughter's tonsillectomy to be done and you're about to freak out because when we handed her over to the anesthesiologist, they told us it would take about thirty minutes, and now it's already been forty-five. You're afraid they won't get us in time for Leia to wake up with us around, although they assured us countless times, they're gonna get us as soon as she's out of the operating room.

You and I have been a couple between 2015 and 2020, and we had Leia in April 2017, so she's now four years old. Basically our relationship has been pretty healthy and I think both of us were happy, but since we're both kinda workaholics and more the rational type of person, at some point we lost ourselves in the chaos of everyday life. And even though it was a mutual decision, lately, every time I see you I feel like it might have been wrong to give up on us so easily. I've been at my happiest during our five years together, especially after our little girl came into our life and made us a family. We still get along pretty well and I still always get those little butterflies in my stomach whenever I'm in close proximity to you, and sometimes I wonder what it would be like to give us another chance.

After another minute of watching you walk furrows into the floor, I eventually reach out for your hand. "C'mere, she'll be alright, I promise." I speak softly while I pull you in, my arms wrapping around your shoulders, holding you close against my chest. And just as I press a gentle kiss on top of your head, the door opens and a nurse comes in to take us to the recovery room. "Mr. and Mrs. Styles? Please follow me, everything went well, Leia will wake up any minute."

I keep my arm around you as we follow her down the hall, and I can't suppress the little smile that creeps up on my face when she refers to you as Mrs. Styles; maybe I should've proposed instead of letting you go.

"See? Told you she's okay." I whisper into your ear just before we enter the recovery room, where our little girl is already tucked into a hospital bed, still peacefully sleeping off the anesthesia.