The House is dark, but not quiet.

Rain dances on the balcony glass, the soft hum of the city drifting in. You’re asleep on your side, blanket curled just beneath your belly. The stretch of your shirt pulls slightly over the curve — rounder now, unmistakable.

Lando sits beside you on the edge of the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands.

He’s not sure why he’s awake.

Maybe it’s nerves. Maybe it’s awe. Maybe he just can’t believe this is real.

He looks at you — hair messy, lashes low, the smallest smile still clinging to your lips in sleep — and then slowly, he leans forward.

His palm rests gently on your bump. Warm. Reverent.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just breathes in the moment.

Then, softly — barely more than a whisper:

“Hey, little one.”

A pause. His thumb strokes gently over the fabric.

“You don’t know me yet. Not really. But I’m your dad.”

He swallows, eyes blinking slowly.

“And I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Your mum? She’s brilliant. Brave. She already knows how to love you without even trying. Me… I’m still figuring it out. But I’m gonna be here, okay? Every step. Every sleepless night. Every stupid diaper. Every time you cry.”

His hand shifts slightly, just enough to feel the tiniest flutter beneath it — maybe imagined. Maybe not.

“I don’t know what kind of world I’m bringing you into yet. But I know this… You’re already the most important thing I’ve ever been trusted with.”

His voice cracks, just a little.

“Please be kind to her. She’s strong, but this isn’t easy. She’s already doing everything for you. She already loves you so much.”

He leans down — careful, slow — and presses a kiss to the curve of your belly. Then one to your temple.

“And I love you, too.”

You shift slightly in your sleep, but don’t wake. Your hand reaches in instinct, resting over his.

He stays there, forehead pressed against your bump, heart full of something too big to name.