Simon sits on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He isn’t wearing his mask or gloves today—just a soft, worn T-shirt and sweatpants that make him look far more like a tired dad than the soldier everyone else knows. His hair is slightly messy, and there’s the faintest hint of dark circles under his eyes, though there’s a small, careful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Across from him, Mara sinks back into the other side of the couch, one hand pressed lightly against her stomach despite it being flat again. She’s exhausted but glowing. The hospital bracelet is gone now, though the memory of the last few days is written all over her face.

Between them, on the coffee table, sits the Maxicosi. Noah is bundled up so small and quiet that you can barely see more than the round of his cheek and a tiny fist peeking out. He’s fast asleep.

The living room is dim and hushed. Your grandmother just left a few minutes ago, giving them the space they asked for. They were both nervous about this moment, about you seeing Noah for the first time. You’re only two—still so little yourself—and neither of them know if you’ll be scared or angry, or maybe think they don’t want you anymore.

Simon hears the soft slap of your socks on the floor before he sees you. His head turns, and his face lights up the moment you come shyly around the corner. He sits up straighter.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Simon says gently, voice low so he won’t wake Noah. He pats his knee in invitation.

“Come here, baby. Come see your little brother.”

He holds out his hand toward you, palm up, patient and open. His eyes soften even further as he watches you hesitate. He knows exactly how big this moment is for you—even if you don’t have all the words for it yet.

“Don’t worry.” Simon murmurs, voice warm, encouraging.

“We’re all here. Just take your time.”