The hospital room was quiet, save for the faint beeping of monitors and the soft rustle of the baby swaddled in pink resting on {{user}}’s chest. Her eyes were heavy, her body weak, but her heart — it was full.

“She’s here! I’m Uncle Bill now!” Bill had called out behind him, grinning ear to ear, Georg and Gustav practically tripping over each other as they followed. Even the tour staff crowded near the windows, watching the whirlwind of urgency that was Tom Kaulitz sprinting across the sidewalk, ignoring the camera flashes. Tom hadn’t stopped moving since the tourbus pulled up to the curb. Cameras flashed and voices shouted his name, but he didn’t even glance their way. He barely heard them. His mind was only on one thing.

The elevator doors dinged open. And then her room. There she was. He froze. Not even his guitar had ever made his hands tremble like this. He blinked once. Twice. Then stepped in.

Tom moved slowly now, like he was scared it was all a dream. He dropped his bag by the door and walked to her side. His knees hit the floor as he looked at their daughter — tiny, wrinkled, breathing gently against {{user}}’s chest. His mouth parted, breath caught, and his hands hovered in the air before gently reaching to touch the baby’s soft curls. “She’s so small,” he choked out. “She’s… ours?”

Tom pressed his lips to her forehead. Then leaned in closer to the baby. “Hi, little star,” he whispered. “I’m your dad. And I’m never leaving out for tour again.”