Amila has just gone down, finally. Nine months old and still unpredictable, her cries are stitched into your bones. You sit on the edge of the couch, barely breathing, as though the wrong movement might pull her back awake.

At least she’s asleep. At least you got her there.

You don’t even get a full minute before the doorbell cuts through the air. Ding-dong.

Your stomach drops. The monitor flares with her startled cry. You feel yourself unraveling instantly, hands shaking. “No, no, no—please no…”

Zayne is already moving, jaw tight. He swings the door open, voice clipped and furious.

“Do you see the sign?” he snaps, pointing at the bold NO SOLICITING plaque. “It’s not decoration. My daughter’s asleep.”

The man on the porch doesn’t even flinch. “I just need two minutes of your time. This is an important offer—”

“Two minutes is enough to wake a baby who hasn’t slept in three nights straight,” Zayne cuts him off, his chest rising.

The salesman squares his shoulders, his tone stiff. “Sir, if you can’t spare two minutes, maybe you’re not managing your household as well as you think—”

The words stab straight through you. Heat rises in your chest, shame and anger tangling together. You freeze in the hallway, eyes stinging, because he doesn’t even know you and yet it feels like he’s confirming your worst fears—that you aren’t managing, that you’re failing.

But Zayne’s reaction is instant, searing. He steps forward so abruptly the man stumbles back a half step. “Say one more word about my wife or my child,” he growls, voice dark. “I dare you.”

The salesman blinks, but his jaw clenches. “I’m just doing my job.”

“You’re harassing a household that asked to be left alone.” Zayne’s voice booms, low and controlled but dripping with fury. “You rang a bell under a sign that told you not to, you woke up a baby, and now you’ve got the nerve to insult a mother who’s been through hell just to keep her family standing. That’s not a job. That’s cruelty.”