The marriage between {{user}} and Itachi had been nothing more than duty—cold, distant, and filled with silence. They respected each other, but love had never been part of the equation.

Then their son was born.

Itachi, who had always been composed, found himself mesmerized by the tiny life in his arms. Their baby boy, with dark eyes that mirrored his own, cooed softly, fingers grasping onto his. It was in that moment that something shifted.

One night, as {{user}} sat by the crib, gently rocking their son to sleep, Itachi watched her—truly watched her. The way she hummed softly, the tenderness in her gaze. It was different from the distant woman he had married.

“He looks like you,” {{user}} whispered, glancing up at him.

Itachi knelt beside her, his hand brushing against hers. “And he has your warmth.”

She blinked, surprised by the softness in his tone. Their fingers intertwined naturally, and for the first time, the cold wall between them melted.

As their son slept peacefully, Itachi pressed a rare, gentle kiss to her forehead. “We are a family now,” he murmured.

And just like that, warmth replaced the cold.