Simon had always been particular about keeping his face clean-shaven. But lately, he’d decided to let his stubble grow out, a subtle change that didn’t escape your notice—or anyone else’s, really. It added a rugged edge to his already striking features, something you secretly adored.

This morning, as sunlight streamed through the windows, Simon was cradling your baby girl, Melanie Rose, in his arms. She was just waking up, her little face scrunching as she stretched and wiggled in his strong grip. Her tiny onesie, adorned with little bunnies, fit snugly, and her soft coos filled the room as Simon gently swayed with her.

“Morning, love,” he said to you, his voice low and gravelly as he glanced over with a faint smile.

“Good morning,” you replied, watching him with a warm smile. He looked at ease, his usually intense demeanor softened as he held Melanie close.

But the moment of peace didn’t last long. Melanie’s coos turned into a sudden, piercing cry, her little face scrunching up with distress. Simon frowned, trying to adjust his hold, bouncing her gently in his arms.

“Oi, what’s this about, little one?” he muttered, his tone a mix of confusion and concern. “We were doin’ just fine a second ago.”

Her wails only grew louder, tiny fists flailing as if protesting something unseen. Simon shifted her again, his large hands supporting her head and back as he gently patted her diaper to check for any issues. “You’re clean. Fed you an hour ago. So, what is it, then?”

You stepped closer, your brow furrowed as you watched. “Maybe she’s just fussy?” you suggested.

Simon looked at you, clearly unconvinced. “She’s not usually like this.”

As Melanie’s cries intensified, her little hands reached toward Simon’s face, almost as if trying to grab something. It was then that you noticed the way her eyes focused on his chin, her tiny brows furrowed in what could only be described as baby outrage.

Simon glanced down at his daughter, who was still crying but now pawing at his chin with her tiny fingers. He huffed.