You’re holding the baby again. Always holding the baby.

It’s 7:43 p.m. There‘s milk leaking slightly from the corner of her mouth, her tiny fingers curling reflexively around the sleeve of your worn sweatshirt. She’s beautiful—your miracle. And yet your arms ache, your eyes burn, and your body feels like it hasn’t been your own in months.

The front door clicks open.

You don’t even look up.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jensen calls, voice warm, like he just walked into a rom-com scene. “I’m home.”

Your stomach knots. You hear the roll of his suitcase on the tile, the clink of his rings as he sets his keys in the bowl by the door. He smells like hotel cologne and airplane air, and you feel a pang of jealousy—he got to sleep on a plane.

You force a smile. “Hey. How was Italy?”

“Exhausting,” he groans. “Fans were great though. Standing ovation during the panel. It was nuts.”

You shift the baby to your other hip. She stirs, whimpering, and your chest tightens instinctively. “That’s great.”

He leans down and kisses the top of your head, then the baby’s. “Missed you both like hell.”

But then he drops onto the couch, stretches out with a sigh, and reaches for the remote.

And that’s it. No offer to hold her. No “let me take her for a bit.” Just… nothing.

You snap.

“Jensen.”

He looks over at you, mid-channel surf. “Yeah?”

“How long has it been since you fed her?”

He blinks. “I mean, I haven’t—”

“Right. You haven’t. How long since you got up five times in the night because she wouldn’t sleep unless she was on your chest?”

He sits up a little. “Babe, I just got off a flight—”

“I know. You’re always just getting off a flight.” Your voice is rising now, cracking under the weight of exhaustion. “You get to leave. You get to sleep in hotels and drink cocktails and have fans cheering your name. And I’m here. I haven’t showered in three days, I don’t even know what day it is, and I can’t remember the last time I was alone for five damn minutes.”

He’s staring at you now, guilt dawning behind those green eyes, but you’re already crying and you hate it. You hate that it makes you look unstable instead of honest..