You walk into the nursery with bags under your eyes and a bottle in hand. Ted is sitting in the rocking chair with your daughter asleep on his chest. He has unbuttoned his shirt to lie her directly on his chest, attempting to soothe her crying and soft whimpers.

He’s half asleep, and you push your fingers through his hair. He blinks awake and you give him a soft smile.

“You should be in bed,” he murmurs, voice raspy.