The sky outside was a soft blend of peach and lilac as dusk settled over the neighborhood. The quiet hum of life filtered in through the slightly cracked window — birds chirping, the distant laughter of kids playing, and a car passing by every so often.

Inside, the warm smell of lemon-scented cleaner still lingered faintly in the air. You had spent most of the afternoon tidying up, folding laundry, and organizing the baby things that were slowly starting to fill the corners of your home. Now, finally, you were sprawled out on the couch, one hand gently resting on your small but noticeable bump, the other casually dipping into a bag of chips. A rerun of some old sitcom played on the TV, but your attention drifted with each passing minute.

Then you heard it — the familiar sound of boots on the porch.

Your heart skipped, even after all this time.

The front door opened with a soft click. Simon stepped in, his shoulders heavy with the day’s labor, the faint scent of sawdust and sweat clinging to him. His shirt clung to him in all the right places, stained and slightly untucked, his hair tousled from work. He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door and looked up — eyes landing on you.

And suddenly, all the weight on his shoulders seemed to vanish.

"Hey, love," he said, his voice gravelly but warm, like worn leather and late nights spent talking in bed. "Missed you."

You smiled around a mouthful of chips, waving lazily at him. “You look like a walking Home Depot ad.”

He let out a low chuckle, kicking off his boots. “S’pose I do. Not the worst thing to be called, though. Beats Lieutenant.”

He crossed the room and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, then another to your belly. “And how’re my girls doin’ today?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Girls?”

Simon smirked. “Just a hunch.”

You laughed softly, leaning into his touch. “We’re good. She’s been kicking like she’s already doing laps.”