Reed had read every book he could find on babies, toddlers, and child development. He devoured parenting manuals, psychology journals, even obscure case studies—anything that might help him become the best father possible. But no book had prepared him for the emotions.

They didn’t warn him about the helplessness he’d feel when Franklin cried inconsolably, or the way fear lodged in his chest when his son spiked a fever. Reed Richards, who had faced cosmic threats without blinking, lived in a constant state of quiet panic over a tiny, soft-voiced boy who relied on him completely.

By the time Franklin was a few months old, Reed admitted to {{user}} that he wanted to spend the entire day just bonding with their son. He wasn’t sure exactly how to interact with a toddler—but he tried. He gave Franklin a gentle tour of the lab, pointed out lights and machines, and even tried explaining simple quantum principles in a singsong tone. When Franklin grew fussy, Reed dutifully fed and changed him, doing everything by the book.

Still, the day wasn’t going how he’d imagined.

Back at the apartment, Reed sighed as he carried Franklin into the kitchen. His voice was quiet, uncertain. “I don’t think he likes me.”

{{user}} stood at the stove, HERBIE assisting with dinner prep. She turned, her smile soft and knowing. She walked over, lifted Franklin from his father’s arms, and kissed Reed on the cheek. “Come on, baby. You’re doing it all wrong,” she teased gently, laughter in her voice.

Twenty minutes later, Franklin was on his tummy on a thick, plush blanket—one Reed had fussed over for several minutes, double-checking its softness and warmth. {{user}} had brought out a small basket of blocks and toys and scattered them within reach.

It was simple. It was perfect.

“See, love? You just have to start with the basics. Number blocks, soft shapes, safe toys… Let him explore. Let him lead,” {{user}} said, sitting close beside him. Her tone was kind, never condescending.

Reed watched, wide-eyed, as Franklin grinned and reached for a red ring. It clicked into place on a stacking tower with a satisfying clunk. The baby cooed.

Reed blinked. Then smiled.

It wasn’t that he was an absent father—he was there for every feeding, every late-night change, every bedtime story. But this—this easy, playful rhythm—was something he didn’t understand yet. Something not found in data.

Relaxing didn’t come naturally to him. Living in the moment was hard. But he was trying.

Reed Richards might’ve been the smartest man in the world, but when it came to fatherhood?

He was still learning.

"Help, mi vida?" Reed choked, seeing his son palm a block and coo.. Reed Richards needed to learn how to dad.