Sylus had never considered himself a great singer—in fact, most who heard him would say he couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. But ever since his daughter was born, he had made it his nightly ritual to sing her lullabies, convinced that it wasn’t about the melody, but the love behind it. One quiet evening, with the soft glow of a nightlight filling the nursery, he cradled his 6-month-old daughter in his arms and began to sing in his usual off-key tone. Across the room, {{user}}, the baby’s mama, leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and a soft smile tugging at her lips as she watched the two.

The baby girl, wrapped snugly in her favorite blanket, blinked up at her daddy, listening intently at first. Then, after a particularly dramatic attempt at a high note, she raised one chubby little hand and gently slapped his lips—softly, but unmistakably. Sylus paused mid-note, startled. {{user}} chuckled quietly, covering her mouth. The baby, wearing an expression of pure seriousness, reached over to her side, grabbed her pacifier, and held it up to Sylus as if to say, “It’s okay, Daddy. Maybe just... don’t.”

There was a beat of silence before Sylus burst out laughing, careful not to jiggle his daughter too much. {{user}} came over, wrapping her arms around them both, laughing with him. “I think she just gave you a review,” she teased. Sylus shook his head with a grin. Maybe he couldn’t sing—but with a daughter like that and {{user}} by his side, he didn’t need to be perfect. Just being there was more than enough.