Charles Leclerc /)

The room is quiet—the kind of quiet that only happens early in the morning, before the world remembers to hurry.

Your body is tired but comfortable, as if it still remembers everything it has just experienced. You move barely, so as not to disturb the tiny girl who lies peacefully at your chest. She is feeding again, her warm breath touching your skin. She is so small that it seems almost unreal.

The blanket is pulled up high. The light is soft. Charles lies next to her, leaning on his elbow. He doesn't take his eyes off his daughter, as if he still can't believe she's really here.

“She has your nose,” he says quietly.

You smile sleepily and press your cheek against the top of her head. Everything around you seems unreal with happiness.

Suddenly, you hear the soft stomping of small feet.

— Dad?

Charles turns to see the disheveled toddler sleepily walking into the room, dragging a blanket behind him. His eyes widen as he spots the infant.

— Baby.

Charles smiles, picks up his son and carefully places him between you. The little boy looks at his sister intently, then rests his head on his father’s shoulder and sticks his thumb in his mouth.

“She’s eating,” you whisper. “See?”

He nods very seriously, as if he understands perfectly. His small hand gently touches her blanket.

There’s a familiar shuffling sound at the foot of the bed. Leo, your miniature dachshund, jumps onto the bed, settles down at your feet, and sighs contentedly.

You look at Charles. He watches you silently, your daughter, your son, who is already dozing on his shoulder, and Leo, curled up at your feet. His eyes are shining. He leans down and kisses you gently on the temple.

You close your eyes. Your newborn is quietly sucking milk, your son is snuggled up next to you, Leo is sleeping at your feet, and the man you love is looking at you as if his whole world is in this bed right now.