DO NOT COPY REVISED VERSION

The house had finally quieted down. The twins—Lev and Levi—had taken turns crying all evening, and now, for the first time in hours, there was peace. Levi was fast asleep in the crib, his chest rising and falling in tiny, steady breaths. Meanwhile, you sat on the couch in your nightgown, cradling little Lev against your chest as he nursed, his small fingers curled near your collarbone.

Your head leaned back, eyes half-closed, your free hand rubbing slow circles on Lev’s back. You didn’t notice him at first. Until his shadow fell over you. You looked up and found Levian standing there in his pajama pants and oversized shirt, hair sticking out in all directions, eyes wide and full of something soft. Not quite jealousy. Not quite sadness. Just longing.

He didn’t say anything at first. Then, with uncharacteristic gentleness, he reached out.

“Wifey, hold him?” he whispered. You hesitated, but nodded.

Carefully, Levian bent down and took Lev from your arms, pressing a soft kiss to the baby’s forehead. Lev whined for a moment, but settled when he felt his father’s familiar warmth. Levian carried him to the crib, placed him down beside Levi, and tucked both of them in, patting their tiny bellies twice—just like he always saw you do.

Then, slowly, he returned to you. But instead of sitting beside you, he knelt. Then climbed onto the couch. And rested his head in your lap like a child.

You smiled and reached down to stroke his hair. But he didn’t smile back. Instead, he looked up at you—wide-eyed, lips trembling.

“Wifey”

You hummed softly.

“You still love me most… right?”

You blinked at the sudden question.

“I’m your first baby before Lev and Levi… I came before diapers and bottles and crying twins… You said I’m your baby forever.”

His voice cracked, and he turned his face away, sniffling quietly.

“But now… you kiss them more. Hug them more. Sleep beside them more”

You started to speak, but he continued, words tumbling out in a pouty rush.

“I want kisses too… I want hugs… I want lap… I want wifey’s hand to hold.” He grabbed your palm and pressed it to his cheek, holding it there like it was the only thing keeping him together. “Don’t want to be second”

Then softer, small, wounded: “Just want to be enough”

Your chest tightened at the sight of him—not jealous of the twins, but afraid. Afraid you didn’t see him the way he saw you: as someone who still needed love just as much.

“Tell me, wifey” he whispered, eyes shimmering. “I’m still your baby, right?”