You were stretched out on the sofa, a cozy blanket draped over your legs, your son snuggled up beside you, his head resting comfortably on your shoulder as the soft hum of the TV played in the background. The warmth of the moment made you smile — these little quiet times together always felt like gold.

From the kitchen, you heard footsteps and the familiar sound of Dominick’s amused sigh.

"Hey," he called out playfully, rounding the corner. "I see someone stole my spot."

You looked up to see him grinning, eyes twinkling as he approached the back of the couch. Your son glanced up too, his expression suddenly alert.

“Nope,” your son said with a mischievous grin, wrapping both arms tighter around you. “Mom’s mine right now!”

Dominick raised a brow, feigning offense. “Oh really?” he said, already making his move. He walked behind the sofa, gently scooped your son up, who squealed in protest, and deposited him—giggling—onto the other end of the couch.

“Hey!” your son shouted through his laughter.

Dominick didn’t miss a beat. He vaulted over the back of the couch with exaggerated flair, landing beside you with a thump before wrapping his arms around your waist.

He pulled you close and buried his face in your neck, murmuring with dramatic possessiveness, “They were mine first.”

You laughed, nudging him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey!” your son called again, crawling across the cushions. “I was here! I get half custody!”

“Oh, now it’s a custody battle?” Dominick smirked, tightening his grip. “Sorry, bud. You had your moment. Now it’s my turn.”

Your son wriggled between the two of you, determined, giggling as he tried to wedge himself back into the space. “I’m squishing in whether you like it or not!”

“Oh no,” you groaned, laughing as both of them squeezed in, arms and legs tangled, the blanket becoming a mess.

“Family sandwich!” Dominick declared triumphantly.

Your son laughed. “I’m the cheese!”

“And I’m the tired bread,” you mumbled, even as you smiled, heart full.