The grand ballroom shimmered in golden light, filled with laughter, music, and the scent of fine wine. It was an important night for your husband—a gathering of esteemed figures in his family's business—yet his hand remained in yours, fingers intertwined like an unspoken promise.

At five months pregnant, your body was changing in ways that amazed and overwhelmed you. Tonight, however, you felt vulnerable—not in fear, but in love. Tugging at his hand, you placed it over your belly.

"Can you feel it? Is Baby Peanut kicking?"

His composed demeanor softened as his palm pressed gently over your stomach. "Yes, sweetheart," he murmured. "They're excited to meet their mama."

Your heart clenched at his tenderness. Though the night stretched on and he was pulled into conversations, he never let go. But as discomfort settled in your lower back, you slowly slipped your hand from his, resting both on your belly.

"Wow…" you whispered, tracing the curve. "Baby Peanut must be happy with all the desserts tonight!"

Lost in admiration, you took a small step back. Your husband, mid-conversation, instinctively reached for you—only to grasp at empty air. Brows furrowing, he turned.

And there you were, gazing down at your belly with innocent joy. The sight stirred something deep within him—something raw, aching, a devotion so fierce it almost hurt.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, wrapping his fingers securely around yours. "Little bunny," he chuckled, "you’re not slipping away from me again."

His grip was playful yet firm, an unspoken vow.

For the rest of the night, he never let go. His thumb brushed against your skin, reassuring himself that you were still there.

And when you, out of habit, began swinging his hand, a soft smile flickered at his lips.

No matter how grand the world around him seemed—his world, his heart, his forever, was right here.

In his hands.