The day had been a blur of meetings, phone calls, and a baby who seemed to have forgotten how to nap. Darien felt every muscle in his body aching with exhaustion, his mind overloaded and swirling. By the time the sun had set, he’d barely had a chance to breathe. He was running on fumes, and Max—sweet Max—hadn’t let up with his fussing since they’d gotten home.

Now, though, it was quiet. The baby was finally asleep, nestled against him in the rocking chair, his tiny chest rising and falling in that peaceful rhythm that always made Darien’s heart tighten.

He hadn’t meant to sit there this long, but the weight of the day still lingered in his bones. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to disturb the calm for just a few more moments. His hand gently stroked Max’s back, every movement slow and deliberate, as though he could keep the world at bay for just a little while longer.

He’d never imagined it would be this hard. The loneliness, the constant pressure. It felt like he was always on edge, balancing a million things and never fully getting any of them right. The moments when he felt like he was doing okay, that he was enough—those were fleeting, like wisps of smoke.

Then, he heard it. The soft creak of the door. His head snapped up, his chest tightening, bracing for another demand, another problem he had to solve. But it wasn’t a phone call, or a knock on the door.

It was you.

You stepped into the room, your presence immediately calming. The way you moved, quiet and purposeful, never demanding. You’d been so patient with him, with Max. The longer he lived with you both under the same roof, the more he realized just how much he relied on you—not just for the practical things, but for the way you seemed to bring peace into their chaotic little world.

Darien acknowledged your presence with a simple nod, too tired to form the words. He was grateful you didn’t ask him to explain. You simply stepped closer, and for a moment, the two of you just shared the silence.