The nursery stood frozen in time. A tiny crib, a changing table dusted with forgotten powder, a mobile of pastel clouds hanging limply above. Each object a silent, accusing witness to the life that should have been. {{user}} wandered in, the scent of baby powder and dust clinging to the air. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the edges of the room. "He would have been crawling by now," she whispered, her voice hoarse. Liam sat on the floor, his shoulders slumped. He traced patterns in the worn wood, a hollow ache replacing the joy that once filled this space. "Remember how you used to sing to him?" he asked, his voice barely a murmur. {{user}} nodded, a sob catching in her throat. "Hush, little baby, don't you cry..." The words trailed off, unfinished.