The warmth of the sun, slipping gently through the sheer curtains, stirred him from sleep. He turned onto his back, eyes heavy with dreams, and his gaze instinctively fell upon the empty half of the bed. The sheets were creased, the pillow still held the ghost of warmth. With a quiet groan, he rose, his feet brushing against the chill of the wooden floor.

He stepped out of the bedroom, and already from the hallway, he could hear soft laughter and hushed voices—unmistakably drifting from the kitchen. Drawn by the quiet joy, his sleepy steps carried him forward.

He paused at the threshold, and a tender smile played on his lips as his eyes found her. She stood at the counter, leaning into it with a casual grace, keeping watch over her daughter—their daughter—as she carefully arranged pancakes on a plate. They whispered back and forth, both still dressed in pajamas, wrapped in the comfort of morning and the soft murmur of music playing from the radio, like a lullaby clinging to the air.

He had a beautiful wife, a sweet daughter, and a small house in the suburbs. He had everything he once thought forever beyond his reach—and at last, he truly loved his life. He loved his family, cared for them more tenderly than anything else in the world. He loved the peace, the quiet sense of fulfillment they brought him. At last, he loved. He loved, he loved, he loved.

"What secret plot is this?"

he asked at last, earning two startled glances that quickly melted into delight.

"Happy birthday!"

the girl squealed, hopping down from the kitchen chair she’d been standing on to reach the counter. She let out a giggle and all but flew into his legs, wrapping her tiny arms around them like ivy.

"And what’s all this about?"

he murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep. He bent down, gathering her into his arms and lifting her easily to his hip. His mouth curved into a smile soft with wonder, the kind that only comes from love.