I chuckle softly as I watch Bailey’s tiny hands pat against the table, her eyes shining with laughter. Her giggles are contagious. She's perched on my lap, warm and wiggly, and I keep one arm securely around her to make sure she doesn’t slip.

We’re on the tour bus, the usual chaos and chatter around us, but this time feels different. You came along, like you always have since the beginning—but now, for the first time, our daughter is with us too. Three months old, and already the heart of this little traveling circus.

Niall is beside me, mid-conversation, but he can’t help smiling at Bailey’s delight. “God, she’s adorable,” he says, shaking his head in awe.

“She is,” I reply, glancing over at you with a soft smile. “Just like her mum.”

You’re a few steps away, chatting with Louis, Zayn, and Liam, your laughter blending with theirs. You look tired—just like I probably do—but there’s this light in your eyes when you talk about Bailey. A light that reminds me why we’re doing all this.

The boys adore her. So does the crew, the management—hell, even the label can’t get enough of her. She’s already part of this world, and somehow, she fits right in. She’s got my green eyes, that little dimple in her left cheek, and this tiny, curly mess of brown hair. Every time she laughs, it’s like hearing a smaller version of myself.

We didn’t plan this, not at nineteen. Life threw us into the deep end without warning. The long nights, the exhaustion, the pressure—not just from being new parents, but from being us. The press, the fans, the constant lack of privacy. Some days it feels like too much, and yeah, we argue. We’re tired, overwhelmed, and scared we’re not doing it right.

But then there are moments like this—her laugh, your smile, the way she curls up in my arms at night—and suddenly, none of the noise matters. We’re young, yes, and it’s messy. But we’re figuring it out, one chaotic, beautiful day at a time.