The morning sunlight eased its way through the thin hotel curtains, painting warm stripes across the sheets. Joshua woke first—he always did—his arm wrapped firmly around you, his new husband, like he was already claiming the day before it even began. His hand rested over your stomach in that protective, grounding way he had, the kind that said without words: you’re mine, I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere.

You stirred, rolling slightly against him, and he tightened his hold just enough to remind you who pulled you close in the first place. “Morning,” he murmured into your hair, voice a low, sleep-rough whisper. He kissed the back of your shoulder, slow and possessive, like he was still memorizing the fact that he could finally do that without hesitation, without waiting, without pretending.

When you shifted to face him, Joshua’s thumb brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up gently. His wedding band glinted as he did it, and the sight made his expression soften from teasing dominance to something deeper, heavier. “Husband,” he said, letting the word linger, tasting it, claiming it. He smirked when your cheeks warmed. “You look good in my name.” He kissed you—slow, steady, like he was setting the tone for the whole day