The apartment windows were fogged, city lights blurring behind icy glass. {{user}} cradled the baby against her chest, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, his tiny fingers peeking out, impossibly small.

Anthony shuffled in from the hallway, his curls still damp from the shower. “He asleep?”

She shook her head, smiling down at the bundle. “Not even close. He’s just… staring at me. Like he knows everything.”

Anthony knelt beside her on the couch, his hand instinctively reaching for the baby’s head, fingers brushing soft curls. “He probably does. He’s already smarter than me.”

She laughed softly, her breath catching. “We made him, Tony.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “I still can’t believe it.”

Outside, snow had begun to fall—light, soft flakes catching the yellow hue of the street lamps. The room was quiet except for their son’s soft breathing and the occasional creak of the old radiator.

“I was so scared,” {{user}} whispered. “That first night, in the hospital. I thought I’d break him just by holding him wrong.”

Anthony’s voice was low. “Me too. But then he grabbed my finger, and I was like—okay. I’ll fight the whole damn world for you.”

She looked down. The baby yawned, scrunching his face before settling again. Her heart clenched.

Anthony pulled a knit blanket over her legs and curled next to her. “I was thinking… we should call Ma tomorrow. Let her teach us how to swaddle properly.”

“She’ll love that,” {{user}} said with a smile. “She already texted me five YouTube links.”

The baby let out a squeaky hiccup. Both of them stilled, then laughed quietly.

“I think he’s a night owl,” Anthony murmured, kissing her temple. “Just like his mom.”

She leaned into him, warm despite the winter chill. “And stubborn, like his dad.”

He smirked. “So, we’re in trouble.”