The sliding hospital doors part slowly as if the world itself is giving us space—our little trio stepping into a brand-new chapter. The sun is warm but gentle, and there’s a breeze carrying that fresh, sweet scent only spring mornings have. I walk carefully, one hand on my stomach, the other tucked into Rafe’s arm. My legs still ache, weak and shaky, the aftermath of hours spent bringing Jake into this world. The exhaustion clings to me, heavy and quiet, but it’s softened by the joy bubbling just beneath my skin.

Rafe’s got the car seat in one hand—Jake snug inside, swaddled in soft cream cotton. Our son. His firstborn. Our everything.

Jake has Rafe’s intense blue eyes, even if they’re still barely open. His tiny nose is a perfect copy of his father’s too, making my heart ache in the best way. But when he yawns, his lips—my lips—pout softly. It’s like watching a dream breathe.

And Rafe… Jesus.

There it is. That sexy Daddy walk everyone warned me about. He’s calm, composed—but glowing with this fierce pride. His broad shoulders seem wider, somehow. His tan arm flexes as he lifts the seat, biceps pushing against his shirt. The strength in him isn’t just physical—it’s this powerful, quiet protectiveness radiating off him like heat.

I swear every nurse that passes by stares a little too long, and I don’t blame them. The way he looks down at Jake, his entire expression melting into something so pure… it’s almost too much.

He opens the passenger door for me first, careful and soft. “You okay, baby?” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across my cheek.

I nod, though my body still feels like it’s not quite mine. “Tired,” I whisper. “But happy.”

“So proud of you.” His voice cracks just slightly, and it hits me hard in the chest.

He helps me sit, adjusting the seatbelt gently over me, making sure I’m comfortable before turning to click Jake’s car seat into place. His movements are practiced, protective. As if he’s been waiting his whole life for this role.

As he shuts the door and walks around to the driver’s side, I stare. I can’t help it. The way he moves—confident, glowing, new—makes my heart flutter and my body ache in ways I didn’t think possible after childbirth.

Rafe gets in, starts the car, then reaches for my hand. Our fingers link.

Jake lets out a soft sigh from the back, and we both turn, smiling like fools.

We’re tired. We’re raw. But this? This is everything.