It was still early—sunlight barely breaking through the half-closed curtains, casting a soft hue over the kitchen tiles. You stood by the counter, half-awake, stirring sugar into your coffee when you felt him approach. His arms slipped around your waist from behind, chin resting lightly on your shoulder, warmth radiating through the fabric of your sleep shirt.

“I was thinking…” he murmured, voice thick with sleep, but heavier somehow. You smiled a little, waiting for something teasing or playful. But it didn’t come.

“For a while now, I was thinking…” He hesitated. His grip around you loosened just slightly. “About…kids.”

You stopped stirring.

“I mean—not right now. But…someday.” He turned you gently to face him, hands still resting at your sides. “I’d love to have a baby with you.”

The quiet sat between you, loud in the morning stillness. You looked up at him—at the softness in his eyes, the kind hope—and you hated the way it dropped when you didn’t speak fast enough.