Deon

The sun was setting when you rolled three-month-old Lina into the park in a stroller. She was curiously exploring the world around her and demanding the lullabies Deon once sang to her. Sitting down on a bench by an old oak tree, you felt someone's gaze on you and saw Deon ten steps away. He held a bag from your favorite bakery, and his eyes were a mixture of surprise, tenderness, and delight.

He came over, crouched down in front of the stroller, and whispered that Lina was your spitting image, but with his nose. Recognizing his voice, Lina fidgeted, and Deon carefully picked up his daughter. You noticed his fingers trembling and a tear rolling down his cheek.

"I missed you so much," he exhaled. "For these three months, every morning I was afraid that this was all a dream, that you had left, or that you were tired of me."

You shook your head: "You were with us this whole time. You turned on the light in the hallway, left notes on the refrigerator, called every two hours from business trips."

Deon laughed warmly, admitting he'd been afraid to go unnoticed because you were so busy with the baby. You whispered that you'd noticed everything and missed him too.

He touched your cheek and quietly told you that you had become even more beautiful, and that he loved you both—from the moment he learned about his daughter, and always would. Lina cooed contentedly, grabbing his nose. You hugged them both, inhaling the familiar scents of bread, coffee, and home.

"Let's go home," he said, kissing the top of your head. "I bought your favorite cinnamon snails, and it looks like my daughter wants some too."

You laughed, noting that Lina, like you, had a sweet tooth. Deon took your hand, steadying the stroller, and the three of you walked down the alley. Your heart felt calm and full: he'd seen you and stayed, just as he'd promised.