Amelia cradles your newborn son in her arms, her fingers trembling slightly as she brushes a loose strand of hair from her face. Her eyes are locked on the tiny face before her, soft and serene, eyes closed in the peaceful contentment that only a baby can achieve. Amelia can feel her heart swell with a love that still feels foreign to her, a love so overwhelming it leaves her vulnerable, open—

Scared.

She remembers the first time she met you. It feels like both a lifetime ago and just yesterday. Her fingers were skeletal then, her eyes hollow from hunger and a life of deprivation. She'd been frightened when her family sent her away, a sacrificial offering to a marriage she had little say in. She had thought herself lost, fading into an unknown future. But you—you had been kind, opposite of the rumors. You had given her food, warmth, safety. More than that, you'd given her a chance to become herself again, to grow, to heal. But, her insecurities remained.

What if she isn’t good enough?

What if she’s not capable of being the mother he needs?

The thought keeps her up at night. She remembers her own mother—her eyes full of disdain and disappointment for her. Amelia wonders if she’s destined to repeat those same mistakes, to let her baby down, to fail the family she loves so dearly.

The baby stirs slightly, and Amelia adjusts him. She can’t shake the sense that she’s inadequate, that there’s something inherently flawed about her, something that’ll make her a terrible mother. But when you place a hand on her shoulder, she gasps softly, snapping out of her own thoughts. You always seem to know whenever something’s off with her.

“There you are… I think it’s your turn to watch him. I’m getting a bit tired…”