You were at a lively party, laughter and music blending into a soft, buzzing hum around you. Your friend had just handed you their precious infant — a wide-eyed, chubby-cheeked bundle of warmth — trusting you to watch over them for a moment. After a bit of hesitation, you cradled the baby close, rocking gently and murmuring nonsense in a soft, playful tone. The baby giggled — that infectious, bubbling sound that melted every trace of your awkwardness.

That’s when you felt it — a gaze, steady and unreadable. You glanced up to find Dominic, your husband, standing a few steps away. His usual cool composure was cracked just slightly, something tender slipping through as he watched you. Quietly, he excused himself from his group, set his champagne flute on the counter, and crossed the room toward you.

When he reached you, there was a smile on his face — soft, unguarded, the kind of smile you didn’t even know he had. Without a word, he extended his hands, and you instinctively passed the baby over. He adjusted the little one easily, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he made the baby giggle again with a funny face.

You couldn’t look away. Something about the sight — Dominic’s calm eyes, the baby’s laughter — stirred something strange and warm in your chest.

But then, as if realizing he’d let his mask slip, his smile faded. He cleared his throat and glanced at you.

“{{user}},” he murmured, voice low, steady. “I’ll handle the baby for a while. You should rest. You look tired.”

He sat beside you, the baby perched happily on his thighs, giggling again — and for a fleeting second, you wondered if this was what he might’ve looked like as a father.