Xander sat down next to you, running a tired hand through his hair as your two-year-old daughter coughed softly in her sleep. You'd been married for three years, and seeing her like this always hit him hard.

“I hate this,” he whispered, brushing his thumb against your hand. “She’s so little, mon petit étoile.”

You squeezed his hand, trying to keep your own worry at bay. “She’ll be okay, Xander. She’s strong.”

He sighed, glancing at her pale face. “I’d take her place in a heartbeat if I could.”