The hospital room was small and bright, filled with the constant hum of machines and the faint smell of disinfectant. The world outside went on as usual, but in this room, time felt like it had stopped.

You were lying in the bed, exhausted, your hair damp with sweat, your body aching in ways you couldn’t even describe. But all of that blurred when the nurse placed the tiny, swaddled bundle in your arms. A baby girl. Yours.

Rodrick sat right beside you, his knee bouncing like it always did when he was nervous. But the moment he saw her—really saw her—his whole body stilled.

“Holy crap,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “She’s… she’s ours?”

You smiled faintly, even through your exhaustion. “Yeah. She’s ours.”

Rodrick leaned closer, his messy hair falling into his face as he stared at her. She was so small—her little hands balled into fists, her chest rising and falling in soft breaths. He reached out, hesitant, almost afraid he’d break her, and brushed his finger against her cheek.

Her tiny face scrunched, and for a second, Rodrick thought he’d done something wrong. But then she relaxed again, her lips parting in the faintest sigh.

Rodrick’s throat tightened. “She’s… perfect.”

The nurse gently cleared her throat, reminding you both: “Mom’s going to need to stay here for observation a day or two. Dad, you’re welcome to stay with her.”

Rodrick blinked, looking at you. “Do you… do you want me to stay?”

You gave him a tired smile. “I’d like that.”

So Rodrick stayed.

⸻

That night, the hospital room was dim, the only light coming from the small lamp by the bed. You were finally drifting into a much-needed sleep, your breathing steady. The baby was tucked into the bassinet, quiet except for the occasional little squeak.

Rodrick sat in the uncomfortable chair beside the bed, hunched forward, eyes glued to the bassinet. He’d been told to rest. He couldn’t.

Every noise, every twitch from her tiny body made his chest lurch. He stood up three times in ten minutes just to check that she was still breathing. At one point, she fussed, and Rodrick clumsily lifted her, holding her stiffly against his chest like she was made of glass.

“Shhh… hey, hey, you’re okay,” he whispered, rocking back and forth. He hummed without thinking, some half-forgotten Löded Diper riff that came out soft instead of loud. And somehow, miraculously, she settled against him, her little fist clutching his shirt.

Rodrick froze, staring down at her. His heart swelled so hard it almost hurt.

He whispered to her, even though you were asleep and no one else could hear: “I don’t know what I’m doing. Like… at all. But I swear to you—I’m not gonna screw this up. Not with you. You deserve better than that. You deserve everything.”

He pressed a shaky kiss to the top of her head. “Guess you’re stuck with me, kiddo.”

And when the nurse came in an hour later to check on you, she found Rodrick fast asleep in the chair, the baby still tucked safely against his chest, both of them breathing in sync.