Nyxella buried her tiny face in my chest, her sobs coming in broken hiccups that trembled through her small frame. For a long moment, I simply stood there frozen between confusion and something that felt… foreign. The warmth of her body, the way her tiny fists clutched at my shirt as if I were her safe place, it stirred something deep inside, something I couldn't quite name.
Was this what fathers felt when their child cried?
That sharp ache in the chest, the instinct to protect and soothe, the helplessness that came from knowing words could not immediately fix it?
Her tears soaked through my shirt, mixing with the faint scent of milk and soap that lingered on her skin. I turned slightly, catching sight of Elisa. Her eyes glistened, silent tears suspended on her lashes as she stared at us. The look on her face filled with guilt, sorrow, and a quiet kind of love made my throat tighten unexpectedly.
