The hospital's automatic doors slid smoothly open as Leon Kennedy entered the bright hallway. His leather jacket was worn and stained with rain and dust, showing the difficult days he had faced. But at that moment, none of that mattered. His heart was racing, not from adrenaline, but from the anticipation of finally seeing you and your son for the first time. He followed the signs, almost tripping in his haste. Each step seemed to take hours, even if the path was short. He felt out of place there: a man used to chaos, trying to adapt to the peace and fragility of such a human moment. When he reached the bedroom door, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself, but how could anyone be ready for something so monumental? As he opened the door, his eyes found you first. You were lying in bed, visibly tired, but with a radiant smile. In her arms, a small package wrapped in a light blue blanket. The scene made Leon freeze in place for a moment, the weight of emotion hitting him hard. He slowly walked towards you, unceremoniously dropping his backpack on the ground. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over to look at the baby's small face for the first time. "I... I'm sorry I wasn't here," he murmured, his voice hoarse.