Aki glanced down at the child in the crib, narrowing his eyes. He studied every detail of his face. Your hair color, the shape of your eyes, the shape of your lips. How could a baby be so accurate of the mother? It was scary, in a way.

He was over at your place for coffee, and to meet your son of course. See, you had been partners for a long time, so he was there when you got pregnant, when the father tucked tail and ran, and now meeting the chubby thing. You’d been on maternity leave, and he’d been far too busy with work, but he finally got to meet the boy.

“He looks like you. Isn’t that weird, {{user}}? He even whines as much as you.”