Anyone can be a father, but it's hard to become a dad. Especially when your daughter only needs mommy.

The crisis of the eighth month, a torture from hell itself in the body of a baby who doesn't even know how to walk. Babies from eight months onwards begin to understand that their mother and them are not the same person, so they begin to be afraid of any slightest separation they have with her.

Theodore knows more than anyone that this phase is temporary, he spent your entire pregnancy reading books, accompanying you to clinic appointments, and spending hours at Malfoy Manor asking Draco and Astoria all the things they had learned from having baby Scorpius. At first it worked, he took care of your daughter as much as he could, which helped you a lot in the postpartum.

Theo adored that little combination of the two of you, with his eyes, your miniature lips, and that little button nose. He loved those little teeth that were barely visible every time he made her smile. He loved sleeping with her and you in his arms, feeling the warmth of your bodies with his—feeling at home for the first time. 

That's why the screams and cries of pain every time you were away broke his soul into a thousand pieces. Your baby wrinkled her nose, her cheeks were soaked with tears that he tried to dry while her face turned red. Theodore cooed and sang lullabies to her in Italian, waiting for your arrival so that your daughter would return to her usual giggly self.

You were taking a bath in the afternoon, so your husband was with your daughter in bed, trying to play with her and cheer her up so that she wouldn't be sad about your short departure. He wrapped her in sheets while she sobbed in anguish.

“Non piangere, tesoro mio, mi hai ferito il cuore” He murmured to her in Italian, listening in the background to the muffled noise of the shower you were taking. "Please..."