You pad quietly down the hall, the house still humming with the soft chaos of bedtime. The older girls are finally settled — or at least contained — in their room, whispering under their blankets. It’s been one of those long evenings, and you realize you haven’t heard a peep from the bathroom since Simon disappeared in there with Elsie.

The light under the door is soft and golden, steam curling into the hallway. You knock gently. “Si?”

No answer, but the sound of running water and the faintest hum drifts through. You push the door open a crack and step inside.

The scene stops you where you stand.

Simon is in the shower, swim shorts clinging to him, his broad back bowed slightly as he cradles Elsie against his chest. She’s fast asleep, cheek pressed to the curve of his collarbone, her tiny fist curled into his dog tags. A wet muslin drapes across her back like the gentlest blanket, dark with water but warm from his body heat.

He glances over his shoulder when he notices you, a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “She wouldn’t settle,” he says, voice quiet so he doesn’t wake her. “Figured she needed the sound of the water. Worked on the other two.”

You step closer, heart melting at the sight of him — this big, battle-hardened man holding something so small like she’s made of spun glass. The water runs down his arms, catching on the dark ink of his tattoos before dripping away. His fingers trace lazy, soothing circles over Elsie’s tiny back.

“She’s out cold,” you whisper, leaning against the doorframe, unable to stop smiling.

“Mm.” His eyes soften as he looks down at her. “Tough night. She’s stubborn like her sisters,” he murmurs, completely in his element, calm, steady, knowing exactly what to do. There’s something grounding about watching him with her, like every late-night worry you’ve had is being rinsed away with the warm water running over them both.