The TV flickered against the far wall, throwing soft light over the living room. The boys were already in their pajamas—Caleb in flannel pants too short at the ankles, Levi in a superhero set, Eli clinging to his stuffed fox with one thumb in his mouth. The floor was covered in blankets and pillows, a crooked fort of comfort.

The smell of buttery popcorn clung to the air, mixing with the faint scent of motor oil still lingering on Joel’s shirt. He had showered but hadn’t changed—just stripped to a worn undershirt, loose jeans, and bare feet on the hardwood floor.

You moved between the kitchen and the living room with quiet efficiency. You handed out small paper bowls of popcorn, wiped invisible smudges off the coffee table, adjusted the throw blanket over Eli’s knees. Ruthie, the little girl, was upstairs asleep, monitor balanced on the armrest beside Joel.

Levi had picked the movie. Something animated, noisy, full of color and fast-talking characters. Joel didn’t care for it—his mouth was set in that line he wore when something was happening he didn’t quite approve of, but tolerated.

Halfway through the movie, Eli climbed up into your lap. You gathered him without protest, resting your cheek against his curls. A mama's boy.

Joel’s eyes flicked over. He didn't say anything at first, but his gaze lingered longer than necessary, sharp and assessing, like he was calculating something.

His voice was low, just audible enough for you to hear. "He's gettin' too big for this." The words came out almost like a warning, but there was no real heat behind them—just a quiet observation.

Caleb stayed quiet, curled up with his popcorn. Levi kicked his legs and laughed too loudly, then went still when Joel leaned forward slightly in his chair, cracking his knuckles. The sound seemed louder than it should’ve been, almost like a signal.

Then came the cry. Thin. Familiar. Hungry.

You didn’t wait. You stood and padded down the hall, past the creaky stair, up toward the nursery.

Rubi was already kicking softly, eyes squinted shut. You gathered her into your arms and whispered something she didn’t need to hear. She’d know by now. Your warmth. Your scent. The shift of your body.

Downstairs, the lights were low. You returned to the couch, robe loose now, holding her close. She latched without fuss. You sighed, settling back against the cushions, stroking her hair as her fingers curled lightly at your breast.

Behind you, Joel stood slowly. His movements were steady, deliberate. He picked Eli up first, carrying him like something precious—like he might break. His gaze flickered to you as he did, lingering for just a beat longer than necessary.

Then he picked Levi up, his arms careful, purposeful. His eyes never fully left you.

Upstairs, their bedroom doors opened and closed with practiced care. Beds creaked. Covers drawn. Soft footsteps over the hardwood.

By the time he returned, Rubi had finished nursing and gone heavy in your arms, her breath slow and steady against your skin. You adjusted your robe but didn’t move. She was too peaceful. Too calm.

Joel stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the two of you. His gaze lingered, his lips pressing together in that tight line again.