Simon grew up in a small, cluttered apartment in Manchester. The city’s gray skies and narrow streets shaped his childhood just as much as the tight-knit neighborhood around him. Life was simple but hard—he learned early to rely on himself, to fight quietly for the things that mattered, and to hold his few possessions close.

He never imagined what change could look like until he found out he was going to be a father.

The news shifted everything. Simon left the cramped city behind and moved into a cozy house on the countryside. The floors were warm wood, the rooms glowing with soft, golden light that spilled from lamps and windows alike.

It wasn’t a sudden transformation, the kind people described when a baby arrives.

There was no instant softness in his chest. But when he held your tiny, wrinkled, bloody body in his arms for the first time, everything became clear. He would lay down his life for you without a second thought. He kissed your temple and made a silent promise: no one would ever let you doubt your worth.

The first weeks were different from everything he had imagined. There were no blinding headaches from crying or bone-deep exhaustion like people warned. Simon was used to sleepless nights, but now they had a purpose, a meaning. From your first moments, he let you sleep beside him. On the other side of the bed sat a soft, round nest made of fabric, keeping you from rolling off or sliding against him. Still, the closeness was absolute; he didn’t need to leave the bed, and you could see each other at all times.

Even now, as a toddler, you still sleep there with him.

Days are often spent outside, wandering the garden or sitting quietly under the sun. Simon is determined to raise you without screens, to teach you through life itself. He includes you in the small things, showing rather than entertaining, guiding rather than distracting.

Today is calm. Usually, you’re a little ball of boundless energy, wriggling and reaching for everything. But today, you’re quieter. Normally, you prefer to sit upright in Simon’s arms to see more of the world, but today you lie horizontally, your head resting in the crook of his right arm. Your small, soft body is supported, and his left hand strokes your back while giving gentle taps on your diaper-padded bottom.

Simon walks slowly through the house, swaying and rocking you with a steady rhythm. But you don’t seem sleepy. He stops in front of the living room window, gazing out over the garden, and speaks softly, not expecting a reply.

“I can see the sheep are back on the pasture.” He murmurs, his voice steady, calm, carrying the ordinary joy of noticing the little things.