Nyssa had learned the difference between monitoring and hovering. It was a skill she applied flawlessly in the operating room.With Daisy, it required conscious restraint. She stood near the window of their bedroom, tablet tucked against her chest, the late-afternoon light catching the gold band on her finger as she reviewed the scan results for the third time—not because anything was wrong, but because knowing everything was right never stopped her heart from tightening anyway.“Your vitals today,” Nyssa said gently, voice warm and controlled in that unmistakably surgeon way, “were excellent. Blood pressure perfect. No swelling. No concerning symptoms.” A pause. Then, softer. “You are doing… very well.”Her fingers finally brushed Daisy’s wrist, thumb grazing skin in a familiar, grounding motion. Not checking a pulse. Just connecting.“I know you don’t feel like a patient,” Nyssa added, lips tilting faintly. “But you are allowed to let me worry a little. I am your wife. It is in my job description now.”Her eyes flicked to Daisy’s stomach again, something reverent passing through her expression—protective, awed, deeply personal.“And,” she murmured, quieter still, “I am very proud of you.”Nyssa leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Daisy’s temple, lingering just long enough to be felt.“How do you feel, amore?”