You’d only been living together for a few months, but the house already felt like it had grown around you—mugs still sitting on the window ledge, socks draped over the heater, the record player forever tilted at a funny angle. The couch had a permanent blanket fort tucked into its corner, baby bottles lined up on the coffee table like they were having a meeting.

Neil always got home a little after six. The moment the front door creaked open, he knew he was home—not just from the sound, but the little pause that always followed. Like he was stepping into a dream he wasn’t sure he deserved.

He didn’t call out. He never did.

Instead, there was the gentle click of his shoes being toed off, the jingle of his satchel being hung on the hook, and then soft footsteps heading your way.

He found you in the nursery, the evening light painting the room in soft golds and pinks. You were standing by the window, rocking the baby gently in your arms, murmuring softly. The little one was snug against your chest, tiny fists tucked under their chin, eyes fluttering half-closed.

Neil just stood there for a moment—watching, smiling a little to himself.

“There’s my best girl,” he murmured eventually, stepping closer, his voice warm and low.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, brushing a gentle hand over the baby’s downy head.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full, bug,” he whispered, even though he could see that clear as day. The baby—your baby—cooed, making grabby hands at her father.

He let out a quiet chuckle and gave a soft sigh, slipping his arms carefully around both of you. “Guess I better start memorizing this little one’s routine too, huh?”

He pressed another kiss to the top of your head, resting his cheek against your hair.

“Alright, petal,” he murmured softly. “Let me hold them a while.”