Sabrina Carpenter stood at the threshold of Barry’s Dublin flat, their daughter nestled in her arms. A sleepy little thing with tufts of golden-blonde curls and Barry’s striking blue eyes—one-year-old {{user}} had no idea the world around her was anything but love, soft lullabies, and the shuffle of being passed from mum to dad.

“You’re late,” Sabrina teased, her tone gentle but tired.

Barry smirked as he took {{user}} from her arms, immediately softening the moment she buried her face in his neck. “Flight got delayed. I would’ve swum the Atlantic if I knew she missed me this much.”

“You probably should’ve,” Sabrina replied, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She lingered for a second—just a second longer than she should’ve. Long enough to remember the late-night feeds they used to tackle as a team, long enough to miss the way Barry used to look at her when {{user}} would fall asleep on his chest.

But they’d made their choice.

They were young. Too young, maybe. Too busy. Her tour dates were relentless, and his filming schedule was scattered across time zones. Loving each other was never the issue—it was trying to live two lives and raise one tiny person between them.

“How’s she been sleeping?” Barry asked, rubbing slow circles on {{user}}’s back.

“She’s teething again. Cried through half of my soundcheck in Paris.” Sabrina forced a laugh. “I think she hates my songs.”

“Nah,” Barry said, bouncing her gently. “She just wants her mum all the time.”

There was a pause. A shared silence that said more than either of them dared voice. Barry cleared his throat.

“I’ve got her for the next ten days, right?”

Sabrina nodded, kneeling to open the little suitcase. {{user}}’s bunny. Her special sippy cup. Three favorite bedtime books and a worn-out onesie that said Mama’s Girl.

“She loves that thing,” Barry said, holding up the onesie with a fond smile.

“She won’t sleep without it,” Sabrina whispered, trying not to tear up.

They had worked out the logistics: co-parenting schedules, drop-offs, FaceTime calls during bedtime stories, and Christmases divided fairly. But nothing really prepared you for the ache of missing moments. First steps, first words—first everythings.

Sabrina kissed {{user}}’s cheek, her heart twisting. “Be good for Daddy, okay? No biting.”

“She bit someone?”

“She bit my manager. He cried.”

Barry laughed. “That’s my girl.”