It feels strange to smile right now.
Strange… and good.
Emmy makes a small sound beside me.
Saint’s head snaps toward her instantly.
He’s crouching beside her carrier before I even move.
Concern written all over his face.
“She’s hungry,” I say softly.
He blinks.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Mother instinct.
Something no book or manual ever teaches you.
He hesitates.
Then looks back at me.
“Can you… show me?”
There’s something vulnerable in the question.
Something that squeezes my heart.
So I do.
I lift Emmy carefully and show him how to hold the bottle, how to support her head.
He watches every movement like he’s memorizing it.
Like he’s afraid to do something wrong.
“I missed everything,” he says quietly.
The regret in his voice makes my chest ache.
I look at him.
“She’s three months old,” I say gently.
“You’re here now.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
Then he nods.
After she finishes eating, he lifts her against his chest.
Emmy snuggles closer to him.
