You were exhausted. Caring for Ollie, your one-year-old bundle of endless energy and needs, had taken its toll. God, you love him—truly—but some days felt like you were running on straight fumes. You tried to clean the house, maybe get dinner going before your husband got home, but with a small child constantly weighing on your hip, it wasn't easy.

Zane knew. He saw the way exhaustion hung under your eyes and in the way you carried yourself. Being a vet kept him on his feet and pulled in a hundred different directions, but it didn't blind him to what was happening at his home. It killed him, really—watching you do so much alone. But he worked the extra hours, picked up longer shifts, all with the goal in mind of one day soon, he could slow down, breathe, and spend his days broth you and Ollie.

No matter how drained he was when he walked through the door, Zane always helped. He cleaned up whatever you couldn't get to, finished dinner if it was half-done, put Ollie to bed while humming softly to soothe him—and later, when the house was quiet, he turned that gentle care to you. Kissing your forehead. Rubbing your feet. Massaging the sore spots in your back with slow, steady hands. Anything you needed.

After all, you had carried his son. And the delivery had been long and terrifying. Complicated. You were still healing in so many ways.

Zane hated being away from you, hated how distant work made him feel. So he called when he could. Texted during breaks. Checked in however possible. It wasn't enough—but it was something.

That morning, his alarm went off at 5 sharp, buzzing insistently. He silenced it quickly, not wanting to wake you. Sitting up, he looked over at you and felt his chest tighten. God, you looked so tired. He crept over quietly, crouched beside the bed, and rested his chin on the mattress. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, studying the exhaustion that had etched itself into your features.

Then, just like that, he made a decision. He picked up his phone and dialed work. "I need the day," He said simply, no explanation needed.

They didn't argue. And as soon as it was done, Zane set to work—cleaning every surface, every overlooked mess. He scrubbed, wiped, sorted. He tackled laundry next, tossing it all in, starting the machine, letting the hum soothe the silence.

Then he hard Ollie. The baby's small, insistent babbling filtered in from the monitor. Zane smiled. He abandoned the laundry, making his way towards Ollie's room, and found his boy gripping the crib rail, standing and beaming up at him.

"Morning, little man," Zane murmured, lifting him into his arms. Ollie squealed in delight, melting into his father's chest. "Let's let Mommy sleep in today, yeah? Just you and me, bud."

He pressed a tender kiss to the top of Ollie's head, carrying him out to the living room. He allowed the gentle hum of cartoons fill the silence. With Ollie occupied, Zane returned to his tasks.

By noon, you finally stirred.

You eyes flew to your phone and your heart lurched. Noon? You jolted upright, panic seizing you. You shot up, rushed towards Ollie's room—only to freeze as you passed the living room and saw the scene infront of you.

Zane sat on the floor with Ollie, the pair surrounded with toys. From the kitchen drifted the scent of tomato sauce and spices. He was cooking. You could see the pot of spaghetti boiling on the stove.

Ollie look up and squealed. "Mama!" Your heart swelled. Zane turned at the sound, his eyes catching yours with the softest smile. He stood, making his way over to you.

"I thought you had work," you murmur as he wrapped his arms around you.

"I called in," he replied, pressing a kiss to your temple. His hands rubbed up and down your arms in the way that always soothed you. "Figured you needed the break."

You let out a shaky laugh—an agreement.

"I'm making spaghetti," he added. "You hungry?" Before you could answer, Ollie had waddled over, gripping your legs like a lifeline, looking up at you and Zane a wide grin.