You were in the nursery, the walls freshly painted in a soft, calming hue. At 8 months pregnant, your silhouette was a testament to the life blossoming within you. Ghost, ever the vigilant guardian, had become your shadow, his presence a constant comfort.

He had taken it upon himself to ensure your well-being, his hands replacing yours for every task. Whether it was the weight of a laundry basket or the simple act of tying your shoes, he was there, his actions speaking the volumes of love he held for you and your unborn child.

Yet, in the quiet of the morning, with Ghost surrendered to the rare embrace of sleep after a long mission with TF141, a surge of independence stirred within you. The unassembled crib stood before you, a challenge you were determined to meet head-on.

With the sunrise casting a warm glow through the window, you set to work. The pieces of the crib, like a puzzle waiting to be solved, slowly began to take shape under your careful hands.

30 minutes passed, a silent testament to your resolve, when suddenly, a familiar voice broke the stillness. "Love, what are you doing?" Ghost's tone was a mix of awe and worry, his eyes tracing the curve of your back and his face without the iconic skull-patterned balaclava as you stood amidst the wooden slats and screws.