~Leo’s~

“You’re doing it wrong, you know.”

That’s what he almost says as he walks past the half-closed nursery door. But Leo doesn’t.

Instead, he just quietly stands there.

Inside the room, the air smells like warm baby shampoo and baby oil. The nightlight glows low in the corner, painting everything with that hazy honey glow that always makes things feel softer than they are.

And there’s Reo.

Sitting in the old glider with his legs stretched out and one arm curled tight around Blue’s tiny frame. The boy’s head rests just under his collarbone. A soft little fist clutches the lapel of Reo’s shirt like it’s stitched from safety...