Sally's POV
The house feels different this morning, warmer somehow.
Gentle laughter floats from the living room, mixed with quiet conversation. Warren sits bundled on the couch, a thick blanket wrapped around his small frame. His cheeks are still pink from the fever, but the dangerous flush has faded.
Karl hasn't moved from his spot beside our son. His large hand smooths Warren's hair with careful strokes while they watch morning cartoons together. Every few minutes, he presses the back of his hand to Warren's forehead, checking for any sign the fever might return.
He stayed awake most of the night, watching over Warren like a sentinel. The sight reminds me of those early days when it was just me and my baby, when every cough sent me into panic mode. Now Karl carries that same fierce protectiveness, and it makes my chest tight with emotion.
