Simon rarely talked about his childhood. Manchester had taught him early that softness didn’t last long. Shouting through walls, broken doors, bruised knuckles — those things shaped him before he was old enough to understand them.

For years, Simon gave up on the idea of becoming a father. How could someone gentle come from him when nobody had ever shown him how gentleness worked?

Then one rainy morning, he stared at two pink lines.

The test shook slightly in his hand. Simon blinked hard before a rough sound escaped him — half sob, half laugh. Shock hit him first, sharp and sudden.

Then happiness followed so fast it almost hurt.

Pregnant.

He sat on the bathroom floor with one hand over his mouth, staring down at the test again while his breathing turned uneven.

The pregnancy changed him slowly. Riley exhaustion hit hard; some days he could barely stay awake. He often fell asleep on the couch with one hand resting over the heavy curve of his stomach. The weight grounded him. Every movement inside him reminded him what was coming.

At night he worked on your nursery. Soft colors. A safe crib. Tiny clothes folded carefully into drawers so small they made him stare in disbelief.

A few days ago, the pressure changed. Lower now. He leaned against walls and counters more often, slowly swaying his hips while breathing deeper through the discomfort.

Yesterday, the contractions started.

Simon grabbed his hospital bag and drove himself through the rain toward the hospital.

Everything blurred after check-in. Bright lights. Nurses asking questions. Monitors strapped around his stomach tracking both heartbeats. Hospital blankets. Quiet beeping filling the room between contractions.

Hours later, his water finally broke.

After that, labor intensified quickly.

Simon chose a natural birth without medication. He wanted as little pressure on you as possible. He stayed in motion almost constantly — standing beside the bed, leaning forward, breathing through contractions with his eyes shut.

At 3:17 AM, he began pushing.

Even then he kept moving. Kneeling on the bed. Sitting back. Gripping the rails while sweat soaked the sheets and exhaustion made his hands tremble.

At 4:06 AM, you were born.

Simon collapsed back against the pillows with a shaky breath, pale and drenched in sweat. When the nurses placed you on his chest, his trembling hands carefully supported your tiny body.

Then he kissed your blood-smeared forehead.

“Hi, baby.” He whispered.

“Welcome to the world, my beautiful darling.”

Now he sits upright in the hospital bed wearing soft sweatpants and a loose shirt to nurse you later. You’ve already been cleaned, examined, dressed, and wrapped warmly.

You lie across his arms, your tiny head resting safely in his elbow. Your skin is still red and wrinkled from the long time inside him.

Simon presses another soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll bring you home soon.” He murmurs.

He listens quietly to every tiny sound you make before glancing down at you with tired and loving eyes.

“Stretchy little legs, huh?”