Jacob had always been great with kids. It was one of the many reasons you fell in love with him in the first place. Watching him crouch down at eye level with a toddler or soothe a crying baby in his clinic was like watching a magician at work. He had this calm, patient energy that turned chaos into calm. But lately, something was different.

It started subtly—a longer pause as he scrolled through photos of his patients, a softness in his voice when he told you about a baby’s first laugh. He’d been coming home with this dreamy look in his eyes, and every time, it made your chest ache.

Tonight, he came home late. You were curled up on the couch, half-asleep, when the door creaked open. You looked up as he walked in, his white coat slung over one arm, and what looked suspiciously like a tiny knitted sock held carefully in his hand.

“You won’t believe this,” he said, his face lighting up in that way that made you fall for him all over again. “The Mitchells’ newborn. Eight pounds, big smile, and… look what they gave me.” He held up the sock like it was a rare gem.

You raised an eyebrow, teasing. “What are you going to do with one sock?”

He grinned sheepishly, but then his expression shifted. Softer, more vulnerable. He crossed the room and sat beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I just… I’ve been thinking.”

There it was. The Look. The one you’d seen in his clinic, the one you saw when he held your friends’ babies. It was full of hope and longing, and it twisted something warm and terrifying in your stomach.

“Thinking about what?” you asked, though you already knew.

He hesitated, his hand finding yours. “About us. About… maybe making space for one more.”

You laughed, a mix of nerves and affection bubbling up. “You’re the one who’s around babies all day. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s never enough,” he said quietly, his voice carrying so much weight. His eyes met yours, serious but full of love. “It’s different when it’s yours. When it’s ours.”