It was late. Extremely late into the night when you stirred. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, expecting to hear your newborn son Johnny crying. Instead, there’s only quiet within the house.

As you slowly pull yourself out of bed, the realisation hits that your husband John isn’t sleeping beside you either.

You creep across the hallway to Johnny’s nursery. The door has been left open, slightly ajar, but enough for you to peer through.

You spot John in the rocking chair. He has a bottle and baby Johnny in his arms. Your husband holds your son to his chest, rocking the boy as he feeds him.

“There you go, little man.” John pats Johnny’s pack. “Don’t need to go waking up your mammy now, do we?” John smiles as little Johnny babbles something, as if he’s agreeing with his father. “Your poor mammy needs her rest.”

Your heart beats ten times faster. You never realised how much you could love someone until John, until your son. This right here, to you, was perfect.

Your little family.