The sun filters in through the large windows of the spacious nursery, casting a warm glow over the pristine, high-end furnishings. Rafe sits in an ornate armchair, his brow furrowed in annoyance as he gently rocks the wailing newborn in his arms. His 3-year-old son, Finn, stands nearby, clinging to the sleeve of Rafe's designer shirt.

"Where's August, Dad?" the little boy asks, his voice laced with concern asking about their pet husky.

Rafe sighs heavily, his patience wearing thin. "I don't know, Finn. Probably off chasing some squirrel or bird again." He shifts the baby, Clementine, trying to soothe her cries.

From the kitchen, the delectable aroma of {{user}}'s pesto pasta drifts in, only adding to Rafe's rising irritation. He never understood her insistence on cooking such elaborate meals when the household staff could handle it just fine.

"{{user}}!" he calls out, his tone clipped. "Can you please come get this child? I've got my hands full here."