The nursery was quiet save for the soft rhythm of the moonlight streaming through the window and the occasional sleepy coo of their newborn. Cynthia lay back against a mound of pillows, her dark curls spread around her shoulders, while Mike sat beside her, cradling their daughter with both awe and caution.

The baby, barely two days old, was a bundle of soft skin and innocent breaths. Wrapped in a cotton blanket patterned with tiny stars, she nestled against her father’s chest, as though she instinctively knew the safety in his arms.

Cynthia's gaze lingered on them, her eyes glassy with fatigue and wonder. "I still can't believe she's here."...