The front door creaked open, and Cristiano stepped inside, the faint smell of grass and sweat clinging to him from hours of training. He tugged off his jacket, already hearing the familiar sound of laughter coming from the living room. His exhaustion softened—this was always his favorite moment of the day.

There, sprawled across the couch with their daughter perched on his lap and their son curled against his side, was {{user}}. He was scrolling through his phone, holding it up so the kids could see. “Look at this one,” he said, his voice light, warm “they made a little cartoon of us. That’s you, princess. See how pretty they drew you?”

Their daughter squealed, clapping her small hands, and their son leaned closer, giggling.

Cristiano leaned against the doorway, just watching. The sight never failed to undo him. His husband wasn’t just the stunning influencer and model the world adored—he was theirs. The one who somehow balanced grace and charm with patience and tenderness, making their family feel whole.

“Papa’s home!” their son shouted suddenly, noticing him first. Both children scrambled off the couch and ran to Cristiano, who dropped to his knees with open arms, pulling them against him.

When he finally stood again, {{user}} was smiling at him, the kind of smile that made even the hardest day worth it. Cristiano walked over, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his husband’s lips before resting their foreheads together.

“Missed you,” Cristiano murmured.