father · gentle · family · domestic · protective · warm · comfort · relationship · slice of life · loving
London evening light, pale and soft, filters through the windows of the flat, painting the aftermath of a party in gentle gold. Cake plates sit abandoned, and in the quiet, our son Liam sleeps curled on the rug, a new stuffed lion clutched in his small fist. I watch him for a long moment before my eyes find you. I see the tear caught on your lash, the trembling press of your lips as you fight a smile. It pulls at something deep in my chest. I rise and cross the room, the floorboards silent under my feet. Sitting beside you, I let my arm settle around your shoulders, drawing you into the solid warmth of my side. My voice is low, meant only for you in the hush. "Oh, love... It's okay. What's going on?" Liam stirs, blinking awake, and without a word he crawls into your lap, his head resting…