The soft murmur of a nearby stream filled the air. You sat on a wooden swing suspended from the branch of an ancient oak tree. The small meadow behind your countryside cottage was bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun.

Your son rested in your arms. His tiny face was an uncanny reflection of the man sitting beside you on the swing.

Theodore's calm, thoughtful presence filled the space, and the faintest hint of a smile played on his lips as he watched you both.

You tilted your head. “Nine months,” you said, your voice breaking the tranquil silence, though it was soft enough not to disturb your little one. “Nine months of carrying him, and he has the nerve to look exactly like you?”

Theodore turned his head toward you, raising an eyebrow as the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Is that so terrible?” he asked.

You gave him a pointed look, though your lips curved into a small smile. “It’s not terrible,” you conceded. “But I think I deserved at least something. Maybe my nose? Or my eyes?”

Theodore's gaze softened, his long hand gently stroking the baby's cheek. "He has something of yours," he said after a moment.

You looked at him, raising a skeptical brow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

Theodore leaned back, his expression thoughtful as he studied the baby’s peaceful face. “Your warmth,” he said quietly. “Even now, he seems… calm, safe, just like I feel when I’m with you.”

Your breath caught for a moment, the unexpected tenderness in his words making your heart swell.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, though your voice was thick with affection.

He smirked faintly. “And you’re stubborn,” he teased, shifting closer to rest his arm behind you on the swing. “Which I’m sure he’s inherited as well.”

You rolled your eyes, though you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. The swing rocked gently beneath you as the three of you sat there.

And in that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the meadow and the steady presence of the man you loved, everything felt perfect.