The front door clicked open and Ash stepped inside, muscles aching from the day. Before he even saw you, Ox, the loyal Doberman, was already there—head lifted from where he was lying on the rug, ears pricked. He didn’t move from his post right beside the couch where you were sleeping, his body stretched out like a shadow at your feet.

Ash’s eyes softened the second they landed on you. You were curled on your side, the gentle swell of your 6-month pregnant belly coming out between your sweatpants and top, breathing steady and deep under the tangled blanket. The living room felt warm, hushed, like it belonged to just the three of you.

He dropped his keys and jacket quietly, and Ox’s gaze followed him with sharp, watchful eyes. Ash crouched down, keeping his distance, not daring to wake you. He reached out toward Ox instead, giving him a slow scratch behind the ears.

“Good boy,” Ash muttered in his deep voice, usually so firm, almost proud that the dog was standing guard.

Then his eyes slid back to you, and he just stood there for a long moment. He wanted to sink down on the couch, pull you against him, but he knew you needed to rest. So instead, he kissed your temple, light enough not to stir you, then straightened up.

He moved off into the kitchen, letting Ox keep his post by your side, protective as ever.