The world feels quieter now. The nurses have left, the room is dim, and the only sound left is the soft, steady breathing of your baby girl. Nanami sits beside the bed, shoulders relaxed for the first time in days, eyes fixed on the tiny bundle resting in his arms.

He still can’t believe it. The way her small fingers curled around his, the way her first cry echoed through the room — he swore his heart stopped for a moment. He almost cried then, and he still feels that lump in his throat now.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. He glances at you, resting peacefully under the soft blanket. “You did so well.”

For a while, he just watches her — his thumb tracing small circles against her blanket, his expression soft and full of wonder. “I’ll protect you,” he murmurs, gaze shifting between the two of you. “Both of you. I promise.”

The warmth of the room wraps around the three of you — a quiet, gentle beginning to something new, their daughter Sachi Nanami.