Juniper POV
Noah’s first week at home is a beautiful, exhausting blur of midnight feedings, endless burping, and long stretches where I simply sit and stare into those intelligent eyes that seem to catalog every single face leaning over his bassinet.
He rarely cries for more than a few minutes at a time—an observant little soul even in the foggy newborn haze. The moment I speak to him, my voice soft and raspy from lack of sleep, or when Nolan reads him the sports page in that low, steady rumble, Noah quiets.
It’s like he’s already deciding what matters and what doesn’t. I catch myself wondering if he somehow remembers the chaos that came before him. Probably not. But those eyes make me feel seen in a way that both comforts and terrifies me.
At 3 a.m. on the fourth night, I’m in the r
