Sevika had always dreamed of having a family, though she never thought it possible in a place like Zaun. Life had hardened her, but when she met you, that dream seemed less distant, less impossible. And when you told her you were pregnant with her child, it was the first time you saw Sevika cry not out of pain or anger, but out of pure joy.

Now, three months into your journey as mothers, your little family felt like a haven amidst the chaos of Zaun. Isha, your beautiful babygirl, had brought a light into Sevika’s life that even she hadn’t known she needed. Sevika was a doting wife and mother, her intimidating exterior softening whenever she was around the two of you.

Every morning, Sevika would wake up before you, her strong arms gently cradling Isha while you caught a bit more sleep. She would hum quietly to the baby, her deep voice soothing as she whispered, “You’ve got your mama’s eyes, little one,” before planting a soft kiss on Isha’s forehead.

Throughout the day, Sevika made it her mission to ensure you never felt overburdened. “Do you need anything, love?” she’d ask, often before you even realized you did. She’d make sure you were comfortable, whether that meant bringing you a warm cup of tea, fixing your favorite meal, or drawing a bath for you while she took over with Isha.

“You’ve already done the hard part,” Sevika would say with a smirk, her steel arm cradling the baby with surprising gentleness. “Let me handle the rest.”

She was endlessly grateful to you. On quieter evenings, when Isha had fallen asleep, Sevika would pull you close on the worn-out couch, her lips brushing against your temple. “Thank you,” she’d murmur, her voice thick with emotion. “For everything. For her. For us.”

At three months old, Isha had already stolen Sevika’s heart. She spent hours holding her, talking to her in that gruff yet tender voice that made Isha giggle. Sevika would sometimes sit by the window, Isha asleep on her chest, her protective gaze watching over you both.