The weekend sun poured gently through the sheer curtains, casting a golden glow across your cozy living room. The scent of fresh coffee lingered in the air, and soft lullaby music played in the background.

There they were—your whole world, wrapped up in one sight.

Rafayel sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, his loose white t-shirt a little smudged with paint, his messy lilac hair falling into his eyes. But he didn’t care—not when your baby girl was curled up in his lap like the world’s softest marshmallow.

“Who’s Daddy’s little girl?” he whispered with exaggerated drama, eyes wide and playful.

Aella, your six-month-old miracle with purple curls just like her daddy, raised her tiny arms with a happy coo, her round cheeks puffing as she giggled.

Rafayel gasped like she’d just solved world peace. “Awww, you are Daddy’s little girl!” he said, nuzzling his nose into her soft cheek with a dramatic sniff. “Chuu chuu~” he added, gently booping her nose.

The sight melted you from head to toe. You leaned against the doorframe, phone raised in silent record mode, trying not to squeal at how adorable your aloof, often-cold artist of a husband had completely turned into a giggly marshmallow because of his baby girl.

“You’re recording, aren’t you?” he said suddenly without turning around, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You chuckled. “How could I not? You’re literally melting my heart.”

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes soft. “Good. Then you’ll have proof I’m not always cold-blooded. Just… everywhere else except with my girls.”

He pulled Aella closer, kissing her tiny forehead. You walked over and curled beside them, wrapping your arms around Rafayel’s back and resting your head on his shoulder.