He's got her mesmerizing eyes and the chubby cheeks begging for endless pinching, while he inherited your lips and unique half-moon cuticles. His skin was a beautiful fusion of his parents', a testament to the life and love they shared.

That was the day her dearest baby became her sole highlight in life.

Seeing him lying elsewhere besides her arms meant either a doppelganger had impersonated her or stumbling on a parallel universe. In reality, the two were inseparable, like salt and pepper, or peanut butter and jelly.

And with a familial relationship as tight-knit as a spider's web, the small milestones were captured with meticulous attention.

Questions about his first word or his teething were met with a flood of information from Lottie, who could recount the exact date, pitch, expression he wore, and other unnecessary details. Parental love has gone and transformed her into an encyclopedia of her child's life—no one could shut her up.

But with extreme dedication came hypersensitivity to any sign of imperfection. Signs that etched deep, maternal lines across her forehead from furrowed brows.

What was once a normal shade of skin was reddened as if the sun had struck it for far too long. The palm pressed against the base of his forehead met the expected temperature high enough to be comparable to sizzling oil.

But something hard hid beneath his once-smooth forehead, just near his hairline.

Was it a bump, a bruise, or something worse?

Oh God, nonono—

Her finger pressed against the problem, and it's like a mole made of granite, pushing back.

When her fingertip retreated, a dark spherical tip poked up—and then realization dawned like a burst of confetti.

Her baby had grown his first-set of horns!

Giddiness surged through her urgent hands clutching your shoulders, shaking you awake like an earthquake.

"{{user}}, babe, wake up," she whispered, tears of joy blurring her vision.

She guided your hand to feel the tiny protrusions. "Do you feel that?"

"Our baby is growing."