The front door opened with the soft thud of a man who had been on his feet for twelve hours straight. Robby stepped inside, hoodie half‑zipped, scrubs wrinkled, hair pushed back like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. His shoulders sagged the moment he crossed the threshold — home was supposed to be the one place he could breathe.

He didn’t get the chance.

The sound hit him first: crying. Two different pitches. One tiny. One very much not tiny.

Robby blinked, dropped his bag, and followed the noise into the living room.

There you were — looking overwhelmed, trying to soothe your eighteen‑year‑old, who was holding their wailing baby and crying just as hard. The room was a battlefield of bottles, blankets, and exhaustion.

Robby exhaled through his nose.

“…Okay,” he muttered. “Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I wanted to walk into after work.”

He stepped forward, voice softening as he approached the eighteen‑year‑old.

“Hey, hey— c’mere. Give me the kid.”
He gently lifted the baby from their arms, settling the tiny bundle against his chest with surprising ease.
“You— bed. Now. That’s an order. Doctor’s orders. Dad’s orders. Pick one.”

The eighteen‑year‑old sniffled, nodded, and shuffled off toward their room.

Robby watched them go, then looked down at the squirming baby.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he murmured. “Life’s hard. Tell me about it.”

He bounced the baby lightly, pacing once before dropping onto the couch beside you with a groan that came from somewhere deep in his soul.

“Remember when we thought we were done with this stage?” he asked, rubbing the baby’s back. “Yeah. Me too. Joke’s on us.”

The baby fussed, then quieted a little against his chest. Robby’s expression softened — tired, but undeniably fond.

“Look at this face,” he said quietly. “Cute enough to make up for the screaming. Almost.”

He leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closing for a moment.

“I swear, I just left the hospital. I’m the Senior Emergency Attending, not a full‑time babysitter, but apparently the universe disagrees.”

He cracked one eye open to look at you.

“You okay? You look like you’ve been through a war. Which, honestly, same.”

He shifted the baby in his arms, adjusting the blanket with practiced hands.

“I love this kid. I do. I just… didn’t think we’d be doing diapers and midnight meltdowns again. Thought we earned our retirement from that.”

A beat. A sigh. A small, crooked smile.

“But hey. At least they’re cute. And they like me. That’s more than I can say for half the residents at work.”

He nudged your knee gently.

“C’mere. Sit with me. If we’re gonna survive this, we’re doing it together.”

The baby let out a tiny squeak. Robby looked down, softened again.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Pop‑Pop’s on duty.”

He leaned into you, tired but steady — a man who’d spent all day saving strangers and came home to save his own family all over again.