The ranch was quiet when you got home—too quiet for how much chaos Rhett had packed into the truck. Bags of diapers, wipes, formula, blankets, bottles and things enough to supply a small daycare sat on the kitchen table, half-forgotten.

Rhett hadn’t sat down once. Boots scuffing the floors, he’d been moving through the house like a man possessed, checking the nursery, the living room, even the porch.

“Bassinet’s set up in the bedroom… and the swing’s in the livin’ room, just in case. Thought, uh, you might want options.”

You were sunk into the couch, the baby a quiet, pink bundle against your chest. He stopped mid-step when he saw you, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself.

“I just… I wanna make sure it’s perfect for her. Y’know? Nothin’ but the best.”

Finally, he sat, boots squeaking against the worn floor as he leaned in. His hand hovered awkwardly over the baby before he brushed a knuckle gently over her tiny fist. His throat bobbed. Suddenly, as he sat down, the picture of you living in this house with your baby girl settled in, everything was very real.

“She’s ours… Damn, she’s really ours.”Rhett whispered quietly almost to himself.