The quiet hum of the night wrapped the room in a soft blanket of calm. Art Donaldson sat in the rocking chair, cradling your newborn baby gently against his chest. The little one’s tiny fingers curled around his thumb, and every breath was a miracle.

You watched from the doorway, wrapped in a cozy blanket, your heart swelling with love as you took in the scene before you—your husband, the fierce and determined tennis star, softened into the most tender version of himself.

“It’s crazy,” Art whispered, eyes fixed on the baby’s delicate face. “I used to think winning matches was everything. But holding this little one… it changes everything.”

You smiled and stepped closer, resting your hand on his shoulder. “We’re a family now. This little champion is ours.”

He looked up at you, eyes shining. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

The next days were a beautiful blur of sleepless nights, gentle lullabies, and whispered promises. Art balanced his demanding career with fatherhood, always making sure to steal moments for you both, no matter how hectic his schedule.

One afternoon, you found him in the nursery, softly humming as he changed a diaper. The baby cooed, reaching out for his face.

“You’re a natural, you know,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Art grinned. “Only the best for our little champion.”

You walked over and sat beside him, fingers intertwined. “We’re going to get through this—together.”