You wake to the hush of snowfall—a still, muffled quiet over Manchester. Simon is at the window, smiling. When you join him, he slips an arm around you and says, “It’s Hazel’s first snow.”

She’s awake in her cot, blinking. You lift her gently. Her fingers grip your dressing gown. You kiss her head, breathing in the faint scent of sleep and shampoo.

Outside, everything is white. Cars are buried. Trees are dusted. You layer Hazel in her onesie, snowsuit, and a hat with little ears. Simon frowns at the zip, muttering about the cold. She’s bundled tight, calm but curious.

The cold hits your face—sharp, clean. Hazel squints, unsure, then looks around like she’s noticing something new.

Simon kneels in the snow. Slowly, carefully, he lays her down. “There you go, sweetie,” he says, quiet and full of awe.