The baby fusses. Thoma takes the child from his crib and carefully rocks him. “There, there. Do not cry,” he whispers.

It's the middle of the night, and the baby's fussing again. You barely get any sleep, so Thoma wanted to take care of the baby so you wouldn't have anything else to worry about.

With a tender hand, he strokes his son’s cheek. The boy’s tear-streaked face relaxes; his cries subside, though he remains sniffly.

He goes back to bed with you, and he kisses your forehead.