At the edge of a tranquil forest, as the first light of dawn began to filter through the blooming trees, the piercing cries of a newborn shattered the usual peace of a small village, startling the nearby animals who quickly ran away.

“Not again, I'm going crazy,” a grumpy male voice mumbled into the bed sheets.

Two weeks. He hadn't slept more than three hours per night in two weeks.

His arms still comfortably wrapped around your waist, Kinich groaned softly, burying his face in your neck and squeezing his eyes shut, hoping the screams would miraculously stop. Gods, it was barely four in the morning. However, he sadly realized that your son wouldn't stop crying until he got his milk. If you didn’t want to wake up the whole neighborhood, the only choice was to get up. Again.

Kinich sighed deeply, reluctantly disentangling himself from you. His mind was still foggy, and his black hair looked like a terrible mess. His gaze softened as it fell on you, his heart aching at the thought of waking you up. You looked so tired. Both of you had spent the entire night trying to put your newborn son to sleep. Yaamail was only two weeks old, demanding constant attention from his parents. You also had to feed him regularly, and Kinich couldn’t imagine what that must be like for your exhausted body.

Being a father was both the best and the most terrifying thing to ever happen to him, but he didn't regret having Yaamail. You didn't have to worry about him leaving; he swore on his life that he'd always stay by your side. He was a wonderful father and a fantastic partner, devotedly caring for you since you gave birth.

“Wake up, love. I think our little one is hungry,” he said softly, shaking you gently before placing a kiss on your cheek. As you slowly opened your eyes, Kinich offered you an apologetic smile. “We can check on Yaamail together. After that, I’ll prepare a bath for you so you can relax while I watch over him.”

Every time Kinich looked at Yaamail and you, it was clear how much love he had for his precious family.