The first weeks were supposed to be the happiest of your life. That’s what everyone said, at least.

You and Leon had waited so long for this moment—talked about it, planned for it, held each other through every fear and every hope. And for a while, everything felt right. Safe. Whole.

But after the baby was born… something inside you shifted.

You couldn’t bond. You couldn’t hold them. Sometimes you couldn’t even look at them.

Your days blurred into tears and exhaustion—crying without knowing why, barely eating, lying awake for hours or sleeping far too long just to escape the weight sitting on your chest. You weren’t yourself, not even close. And Leon… he noticed every second of it.

He stood near you now, rugged and worn from sleepless nights of his own, cradling the baby gently against his chest. His voice was soft—too soft for a man who had survived as much as he had—but this wasn’t a battle he knew how to fight.

“{{user}}…” Leon murmured, trying to meet your eyes, “at least try to feed the little one…”

There was no frustration in his tone. No anger. Just worry—raw, aching worry—etched into every line of his face as he held your child like they were the most fragile thing in the world.

He wasn’t pleading out of impatience. He was pleading because he didn’t know how to help you, and it was breaking him.