The first thing you remember is waking up to a bright room and the smell of antiseptic mixed with something sweet—like baby powder and flowers.

Your body feels heavy, like you’ve been carrying a storm inside you and finally let it out.

You blink, trying to focus, and the room slowly comes into view: soft curtains, pastel walls, your parents sitting quietly in the corner, Ben’s mom beside them, Ben’s dad pacing like he’s trying not to show he’s nervous.

And then… you feel it.

A small weight in your arms.

Warm. Heavy. Alive.

Your daughter is asleep on your chest, her tiny fingers curled like she’s holding on to you without even knowing it.

You stare at her for a moment, and your eyes sting.

“Is she… really ours?” you whisper, voice hoarse.

Ben is right there beside you, leaning over the bed like he can’t stand the distance. His smile is soft, the kind that looks like it hurts to be that happy.

“She’s ours,” he says. “And she’s perfect.”

Your heart feels like it might burst, and for a second you forget the pain, forget the meds, forget everything except the tiny rise and fall of her breathing.

Then the room fills with the sound of Ben’s voice again—light, playful, like he’s trying to break through the fog of your exhaustion.

“Hey,” he says, nudging your shoulder gently. “You know what this means, right?”

You look at him slowly.

He grins. “You can’t use ‘I’m tired’ as an excuse anymore. You’re officially a mom now.”

You groan softly, and Ben laughs, the kind of laugh that makes your chest feel warm.

“I know,” you say, blinking at your daughter. “I’m just… still high on whatever they gave me.”

Ben’s eyes widen, then he tilts his head, pretending to be shocked.

“Oh no,” he says dramatically. “I’m sorry, babe. I forgot to warn you. The hospital gives you a little ‘mommy glow’ medication that makes you love your baby so much you want to cry all the time.”

Your parents giggle from the corner.

Ben’s dad clears his throat, trying to sound serious. “I think it’s called ‘postpartum’…”

Ben laughs harder. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just saying it sounds like a superpower.”

You finally manage a small smile.

“Stop,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You’re going to make me cry.”

Ben leans closer and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmurs. “You deserve it.”

He looks down at your daughter and whispers, “Hey, kiddo. You already have your mom wrapped around your finger.”

You glance at him, surprised. “You’re not even jealous.”

Ben’s eyes sparkle. “Of course I am. I’m just… more in love than jealous.”

He pauses, then his grin returns.

“Also, you look like a junkie right now,” he says, barely holding back laughter.

You blink, startled.

Ben’s laugh softens instantly as he sees your expression. He reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice gentle. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You let out a shaky laugh, half-angry, half-amused.

“You better not be making fun of me,” you whisper.

Ben leans in, whispering into your ear, “I’m not making fun of you. I’m making fun of the fact that you’re so out of it you think you’re a junkie.”