{{user}} was nine months pregnant, her belly round and heavy with the little life they’d both been waiting for. It was one of those soft, peaceful nights—the kind where the world outside seemed to sleep under a blanket of quiet. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed 2:30 a.m., and the house was wrapped in a calm stillness broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of a clock.

Simon had been out cold after a long day—one of those bone-deep sleeps that only came after hours of exhaustion. But when his hand reached across the bed and found only cool sheets, something in him stirred instantly. The absence of her warmth tugged him out of sleep faster than any nightmare could.

He sat up, blinking away the haze of dreams, and noticed the soft golden light spilling from down the hallway. The nursery. Of course. He rubbed at his eyes, slipped on a shirt, and padded quietly through the house, the floor creaking softly under his steps.

There she was—{{user}}—standing in the baby’s room, her hair a little messy from sleep, wearing one of his old shirts that draped comfortably over her bump. She was humming softly as she folded tiny onesies, arranging diapers, wipes, and blankets with meticulous care. The room smelled faintly of baby powder and fresh laundry; the pastel curtains swayed gently with the cool night breeze.

Leaning against the doorframe, Simon crossed his arms. For a moment, he just watched her—the love of his life preparing for the little girl they’d soon meet. The scene was so tender, so ordinary, and yet it filled him with a kind of peace he never thought he’d have.

“What are you doin’,…?” he finally murmured, his voice rough and low from sleep.