It was the night of the annual military ball, and you were in the bedroom, carefully cradling your sleeping daughter in your arms. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light over the room, and you rocked her gently, humming a soft tune. You were calm, content, and maybe even a little excited for a night out with Simon.

Then you heard a low grumble from the hallway, followed by a series of muttered curses.

Simon stepped into the doorway, his tuxedo shirt hanging open, his bow tie dangling loosely around his neck. He was tugging at the sides of his dress shirt, his brow furrowed with frustration. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, trying again to button up the shirt but only managing to get a few buttons closed before it stretched uncomfortably across his midsection.

He caught your gaze and huffed, giving up for a moment. “This damn thing must’ve shrunk,” he said, almost defensively, tugging at the fabric again as if to prove his point.

You suppressed a smile, glancing down at his broader chest and softer middle. It was true—Simon had changed since your daughter was born. The man who once had a body that could rival a Greek statue had now embraced the comforts of family life, and it showed. The sharp lines of his abs were now softer, and the chiseled chest had given way to what some would call a “dad bod.”

He struggled with the shirt again, muttering more colorful curses under his breath. He glanced at your amused expression, scowling lightly. “It’s not funny.”