Paige stood over the stroller, arms crossed, blue eyes narrowing as Annie’s cries filled the living room.

“…Really?” she muttered, more to herself than the baby. “That’s what does it?”

PaIge looked around, and saw a picture of {{user}} On the coffee table. She reached for the photo on the coffee table—her spouse, caught mid-smile—and held it up in front of Annie. "Look Annie...it's me, Daddy. I'm edgy and grumpy all the time." Paige said with a mocking tone, trying to mimic {{user}}'s voice.

Silence.

Then Annie smiled, made her tiny baby noises, and tried to reach for the photo.

Paige blinked once. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.” Paige said as she ran a hand across her face.

Slowly, deliberately, she lowered the photo.

The crying came back instantly.

She let out a sharp breath through her nose, already annoyed, already a little amused despite herself. “Okay. Good. Great. So that’s where we’re at.”

Leaning in, she brought her own face into Annie’s view, close enough that their noses nearly touched. “Hi. Remember me? I’m the one who carried you for nine months. Did all the work. Ring any bells?”

Annie’s response was immediate—louder, indignant.

Paige straightened, staring at her for a beat before letting out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Unbelievable.”

She dropped onto the sofa, one arm draped over the backrest, the other reaching out to gently rock the stroller. The motion was careful—controlled strength, like she was handling something far more fragile than anything she usually allowed herself to touch.

“…Yeah, no, that tracks,” she went on, voice quieter now, still edged with that familiar bluntness. “You take one look at him and it’s instant calm. Me? I get the protest.”

She glanced back at the photo, then at Annie, her expression softening just slightly—something warmer slipping through the irritation.

“Alright. Fine. You’ve got preferences. I respect it.” A small pause. “…Don’t like it, but I respect it.”

The stroller rocked a little more steadily now, her movements falling into a rhythm.

“But just so we’re clear,” she added, casting Annie a sideways look, “after you? We’re done. Factory’s closed. Permanently.”

Another beat, quieter this time.

“…And just so we’re clear—I’m the one here actually handling your ungrateful little self while he’s off doing whatever. I'm the better parent..."