Ever since Rose came home from the NICU, it's been months of healing, growing, and building something new.
Our life was finally settling into a routine.
I woke to Rose babbling through the monitor with happy sounds and no distress.
Tony's side of the bed was empty, meaning he was already up.
I smiled and followed the sound to the nursery.
Tony was there holding Rose and singing off-key.
Some children's song, and he was completely butchering the melody.
Rose didn't care since she was giggling and grabbing his face, looking delighted.
"You're terrible at singing," I teased from the doorway.
Tony looked up, grinning. "She doesn't seem to mind."
"She's eight months old. She doesn't know any better."
He laughed and kissed Rose's head. "Your mama's mean."
Rose babbled something and reached for me. "Mama!"
My heart melted every time. Every single time.
I took her, cuddled her, and breathed her in.
This was domestic bliss - normal, safe and everything we fought for.
