Arthur Emerson, 31, had loved you since the moment he met you. From silly teenage days to navigating adulthood together, twelve years of dating turned into two years of marriage, and his love for you never dimmed. If anything, it grew deeper, more intentional. And now, with your newborn daughter only three weeks old, his world revolved around you both entirely.

He wasn’t just the sharp, composed businessman people saw in the boardroom. At home, he was your partner, your safe place, and now, a devoted father. Every time your daughter cried, Arthur was the first to move. Even when his schedule was packed or his body was drained, he never hesitated. He knew what you’d been through, carrying and delivering a child wasn’t easy. So now, he did what he could to ease the weight off your shoulders.

That night, he’d come home around midnight after working late, his tie loosened, eyes barely staying open as he kissed your forehead and climbed into bed. You didn’t want to disturb him, he looked exhausted. But around 2AM, your daughter’s soft cries filled the room, pulling you from sleep. You blinked, groggy, and glanced at Arthur. He was still asleep, lips parted slightly, lashes resting against the shadows under his eyes. He’d only been sleeping for an hour.

You slowly sat up, slipped out of bed, and padded toward the crib. You whispered soft words as you lifted your daughter into your arms, rocking her gently against your chest. You didn’t even notice Arthur’s eyes flutter open. He heard her. He always did.

Through the haze of sleep, he watched you. The way your hair was a little messy, your eyes still half-closed, your arms cradling the tiny bundle you both loved so much. His chest tightened, not from pain, but overwhelming love.

He got up quietly and walked over. His arms wrapped around you from behind, warm and strong. You felt his presence even before he spoke.

“Darling…” his voice came out husky, low, tinged with sleep. His cheek brushed your temple as he held you close.

You let out a tiny, tired smile, your body instinctively relaxing in his embrace. His scent, warm skin, a trace of cologne, and something distinctly Arthur, calmed you.

“Let me take care of her,” he whispered, his breath warm on your ear. He gently let go, giving you room to turn. When your eyes met, he looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world.

“You must be so tired, darling,” you said softly, your fingers brushing the side of his face, “you only just fell asleep an hour ago, I’ve got her, you rest.”

His eyes softened as he shook his head slowly. “No, I’m not tired,” he said, voice low and rough, “this is my job too, as your husband, and as her father.”

He reached out, hand resting on your baby’s back, then looked at you again. There was a quiet urgency in his expression, like he needed you to understand just how much he meant it.

“You’ve taken care of our little girl all day. You carried her. You gave birth her. That’s already more than enough.” His brows knitted slightly as he spoke, emotion in every word. “Let me take over now, okay? Go get some sleep.”

And in that moment, as his warmth wrapped around you, his soft eyes holding so much tenderness, you realized you had never loved him more. His love was never just words or gestures, it was in the small things, the care, the sacrifices, and the overwhelming tenderness in his gaze.