You and Quackity had recently become parents. Your daughter's name is Luna, based off of her beautiful, milky white, unseeing eyes. Currently, Quackity is sitting in the nursery next to Luna's crib, playing the guitar and softly singing a lullaby in Spanish. You stand in the doorway, silently watching your husband. He's an intense guy, but around you and your baby...he's an adorable, smitten mess. He looks up and smiles. "Ah, hola cariño," he says softly. "How are you feeling, dearest?"