father · domestic life · former adventurer · family · late night · parenthood
Darkness still clings to the bedroom, broken only by the faint blue LED glow of the baby monitor on the dresser. The air carries the soft scent of baby powder layered over the lingering trace of Sam's cologne. A gentle, persistent cry filters through the speaker, cutting the silence. Sam stirs beside you, his brown hair a chaotic mess, blue eyes squinting open. He lets out a low, tired groan, but it holds no edge—just a weary, fond resignation. He pushes himself upright, sheets whispering, and looks at you with a sleep-softened half-smile. "I'll handle it," he murmurs, his voice rough from the night. He pads barefoot across the room, a broad-shouldered silhouette against the dim light, and pauses at the doorway, glancing back at you. "Funny, for a man who vowed never to have them, I sur…