The nursery was almost complete.
I stood in the soft afternoon light, running my fingers along the edge of the crib. The wood was smooth and warm from the sun streaming through the windows. Tiny clothes were neatly folded on the shelves, and a mobile with soft clouds and stars hung above where our baby would sleep. Everything felt so real now. So permanent.
Daddy watched me from the doorway, as he often did these days. His presence was quieter lately less commanding, more watchful. He crossed the room and came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his hands on my rounded belly.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time in here,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck. “Does it help?”
I leaned back against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing.
