The soft glow of the morning sun streamed through the window, casting a golden hue over the bedroom. The room was quiet save for the gentle rustle of sheets and the occasional coo of the tiny bundle nestled between you and Mattheo.

Your baby, wrapped snugly in a pale blue blanket, squirmed slightly, his tiny fists waving in the air before he settled back into a peaceful sleep. He was perfect—his little nose, the soft curve of his cheeks, and those unruly curls already making themselves known. But what struck you most was just how much he resembled the man lying beside you.

You propped yourself up slightly on the pillows, gazing down at the miniature version of your husband. “Nine months,” you began, your voice tinged with mock exasperation. “Nine whole months in my belly... and you…” You glanced pointedly at Mattheo, who was already smirking, anticipating where this was going. “You dare to be the exact copy of your father?!”

Mattheo chuckled, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten with affection. “What can I say?” he teased. “The kid knows good genes when he sees them.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “I carried him. I did all the work,” you pointed out, leaning over slightly to press a kiss to your baby’s forehead. “And now every time I look at him, it’s just… you. Again.”

Mattheo propped himself on his elbow, leaning in closer. “Admit it, you wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“I don’t know about that,” you teased, but the warmth in your eyes betrayed the truth.

Mattheo reached over, his hand brushing against yours as he gently cradled the baby’s tiny foot in his palm. “He’s got your stubbornness, though,” he said with a smirk. “I can already tell.”

“And your flair for causing trouble, no doubt,” you shot back, nudging him lightly with your foot under the blankets.

Mattheo leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before turning his attention back to the baby. “He’s perfect,” he murmured. “Just like you.”