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There are some challenges she’s come to accept as part of being a parent, not because she’s overcome them, but because there is no overcoming them. You just learn to live with them, learn how to carry them differently. The sleepless nights, the endless questions, the chaos that small hands could bring. Difficulties that can’t be fixed or solved, only weathered.
But one of the hardest, the one that always leaves her feeling raw and helpless, is having a sick child. Not just the sniffles or a scraped knee, but real illness. The kind that leaves her son sluggish and quiet, his small body curled up on the couch, cheeks warm with fever. It doesn’t matter how many times it happens. Every single time her heart cracks open in the same place.
Motherhood has changed her. It has softened some parts of her, hardened others. And after a few years of it, she thought she’d be better at this by now. But no amount of experience makes it easier to watch her little boy suffer, even from something as routine as a virus.
What does help is knowing she isn’t alone in it. That her husband is right there with her, steady in ways that matter, even when it clearly tears him apart too. She loves that about him. How he steps up without hesitation. How fiercely protective he becomes of their son. How he shows up for her. For both of them. In those vulnerable moments, he’s her anchor.
She especially loves the way he reassured her when the guilt crept in—on those mornings when she left for work with her son still sick, wrapped in his father’s arms. When she doubted herself. Wondered, just for a second, if she’s failing somehow. If being a good mother meant never walking out that door.
But Harvey reminded her otherwise. Gently yet firmly. And over time, she’s grown a thicker skin. She’s learned that sharing the load doesn’t make her less of a mother. That being part of a team doesn’t mean she loves her son any less. She trusts Harvey completely—with their child, with her heart, with everything.
And she wishes, truly, that he could see himself the way she sees him. Because for all the confidence he carries in every other part of his life, fatherhood makes him a little... unsteady. Not in his actions—never that—but in how hard he is on himself. As if he should be able to control the uncontrollable. As if he isn’t already doing everything right.
She doesn’t mind the way he hovers just a little too much. The way he keeps the pediatrician’s private number saved under favorites, or how he double-checks the dosage on children’s Tylenol like he’s preparing for surgery. That’s just Harvey to her. And while he might think he’s being over-the-top, she sees it for what it really is: love, plain and fierce.
“I have to go.”
Donna's voice is barely above a whisper as she lingers by the mirror, fingers fussing with a stray curl that refuses to behave. Her reflection stares back—eyes a touch too tired, mouth pressed in a thin line that almost hides the worry. Almost.
Harvey stands a few feet away. His gaze finds hers in the mirror, lingering, and when he exhales, it’s heavy with more than just breath.
“You know any other day, I’d practically push you out the door,” he says, voice low and rough around the edges. “But not today.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “You can’t leave me, Donna. Not this time.”
There’s no accusation, no anger, just that open vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see. His face looks pale, drawn tight with the kind of stress only a sick toddler can inflict. Like he's slept with one eye open for nights on end. The usual sharpness in his suit is replaced with a rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants—he’s swapped power for parenthood, and it shows.
She crosses the room and lays her hands gently on his chest. “You’ll be okay, honey,” she says, her smile tender, though not quite reaching her eyes. “Call me if there’s an emergency. A real one, Harvey. Like if his fever spikes. Not if you run out of that weird lemon tea you're slightly obsessed with.”
He gives a weak chuckle, but it fades almost instantly. His eyes drop to the floor. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he confesses, voice quiet, almost hoarse. “It’s never been this bad. He’s barely eaten. Won’t sleep unless I'm holding him, and even then—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “I feel useless.”
Donna’s hands slide up to cup his face, thumbs brushing against the faint stubble on his cheeks. She leans in, her forehead resting gently against his. “Hey, you’re not useless,” she murmurs, her breath warming the space between them. “You’re his dad. That’s all he needs right now. Someone to be there. Someone to hold him through the hard parts.”
He nods, but she can still see the tension in his shoulders, the guilt sitting heavy in his chest.
“When he wakes up,” she continues, “he’ll want something simple. Cereal, maybe a cartoon. A warm blanket and you next to him on the couch. You don’t have to fix everything, you just have to be there. And you’re so damn good at that, even if you don’t always believe it.”
Harvey lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes as she kisses his forehead. For a moment, neither of them speaks.
“I just wish he didn’t have to suffer like this,” he finally says, his voice breaking a little.
“Me too.” Donna smooths his hair back, her thumb lingering on his cheek. “But he’s strong. He gets that from you.”
She leans in to press a lingering kiss to his lips, and when she pulls away, he doesn’t let go right away.
“I’ll be back by four,” she promises, reaching down for her purse.
“Four sharp,” he says, voice softer now, resigned but steadier. “Love you.”
“Love you more.” She blows him a kiss at the door, eyes holding his a beat longer than necessary, before slipping out into the hallway and closing it quietly behind her.
•••
A few hours later, just as the boardroom is knee-deep in quarterly forecasts and sales projections, Donna’s assistant, Jenna, knocks lightly before pushing the door open with visible hesitation. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Donna, but…”
Donna doesn’t even glance up from her notes. The click of Jenna’s heels, the tone in her voice, tells Donna everything she needs to know. She exhales, already bracing herself. “What does he want?”
“I’m not sure,” Jenna admits, stepping fully into the room now. “He wouldn’t say. Just that it’s about your son. And… he’s been calling. A lot.”
Donna’s pen stills over her notepad. “How many times is a lot?”
“Five. Maybe six,” Jenna replies, wincing slightly.
Donna sighs deeply, straightens the fabric of her dress, and gathers her composure like a cloak. She rises with a grace that doesn’t betray the sudden stab of concern in her gut. “Excuse me,” she says to the room, offering a polite smile that borders on strained. “Sick child. I’ll be back shortly.”
She’s already halfway to her office by the time Jenna scrambles to keep up.
“Did he say anything specific?” Donna asks briskly. “Fever? Vomiting? Hospital-level drama?”
“No,” Jenna says, voice tight with discomfort. “He just kept saying it was urgent. That he really needed to talk to you.”
Donna rubs a hand across her forehead. “It better be,” she mutters.
As they reach her office, Donna nods to the receptionist. “Patch my husband through.”
“He’s already on line one,” the receptionist says without missing a beat.
Donna huffs, not quite irritated, more impressed by Harvey’s persistence. “Of course he is.”
She shuts the door behind her, takes a breath, and picks up the phone.
“Donna, finally!” Harvey’s voice bursts out, slightly panicked. “I’ve been calling your cell, but it went straight to voicemail. Then I tried Allie, then Jenna, and—”
“Harvey,” she cuts in, her tone firm but not harsh. “What’s wrong?”
“You need to come home.”
She glances at the clock. “I’m at work.”
“Our son is sick.”
“Yes, I’m aware. That’s why I told you to only call me if it was an emergency. So…” she pauses, “Is this an emergency?”
There’s a beat of silence. A sigh.
“No. Not... exactly. He’s okay, technically. Still has the fever, still coughing, still generally miserable. But, Donna... he won’t eat. He won’t let me change him. He won’t even look at me. He just keeps asking for you like I’m some stranger trying to kidnap him.”
Donna pinches the bridge of her nose, but her lips twitch in reluctant sympathy. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with him,” she says gently. “He’s turning into his father. That’s why he’s so dramatic when he’s sick.”
“Donna.” Harvey groans like he’s aged a decade in a morning.
“I have a very important lunch meeting later. I can’t just leave,” she says, the weight in her voice betraying the strain beneath her calm exterior.
“What could be more important than your son?” Harvey fires back, but instantly winces. “Damn it. I didn’t mean that. I just… I don’t know what I’m doing here. He’s inconsolable. I feel like the villain in a Disney movie.”
Donna closes her eyes for a moment, her fingers hovering above her desk. She hates this part—the guilt, the tug-of-war between work and motherhood, the ache that settles in her chest at the thought of Cooper crying out for her.
“He’s just in his mommy phase,” she says quietly. “It’ll pass. Sooner than you want it to. One day, he’ll be all about you, and I’ll be the one he barely hugs on the way out the door.”
Harvey doesn’t respond right away. She can almost feel his frustration through the phone.
“But I’ve got lunch with Nathan Cole,” she adds. “I can’t cancel.”
The line goes quiet.
“Nathan Cole. Of course.” Harvey’s voice is suddenly tight, dry. “Always at lunch. Never at the table when the real work happens.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t start.”
“He’s got that smug smile, that voice like he’s narrating a cologne commercial." He exhales like the name alone gives him a headache. “He’s basically Tanner with better suits.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Why don’t I take the lunch?”
Donna blinks. “You hate Nathan Cole.” she remarks, raising an eyebrow.
“Exactly. That’s why I should go. I speak fluent asshole.”
A laugh bubbles up from her throat. “You’d really sit across from the man who once told me I should wear red more often because it makes me ‘more memorable in negotiations’?”
“Absolutely,” Harvey replies. “And I promise not to flip the table unless he brings that up again.”
“He’s a pain in the ass, but I need him to commit,” Donna says, sobering. “If I’m not there, he’ll think I needed my husband to fight my battles for me. I can’t give him that power.”
“Or,” Harvey counters, lowering his voice, “he’ll think I came to remind him who he’s dealing with. You’ve done the work. I’m just there to slam the door behind him.”
Donna’s eyes flutter shut. For a second, she lets herself imagine it: Harvey sliding into that chair, cool and lethal, turning Cole inside out with charm and veiled threats while she gets to be home, exactly where her heart is pulling her.
She doesn’t speak. Harvey does.
“Let me be the guy who makes Nathan sweat,” he says, quieter now. “So you can be the mom Cooper needs right now.”
A beat.
“And even if I threw on one of your dresses and some lipstick, Coop would still know I’m not you.”
Donna chuckles. “You’d need heels, too,” she says, amused.
“I can make it work,” he deadpans. “They don’t call me Manhattan’s best closer for nothing.” But his next words are softer. “I just want our son to feel better.”
Donna’s smile fades into something tender. “I shouldn’t have left this morning.”
“Yes, you should have,” Harvey says, no hesitation. “You didn’t stop being a mom when you became an entrepreneur. And if I made you feel guilty for choosing your job, I’m sorry. You did nothing wrong.” He pauses. “He’s my kid too. You don’t have to carry this by yourself. We tried splitting duties, it didn’t work. Because right now, he’s on a one-woman mission. And that sucks. But it’s not your fault.”
She’s silent for another moment, before she tells him, “That was quite the speech.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“You still freaking out?”
“Oh, totally. I’ve just evolved. I’m a more articulate disaster now.”
Donna hears rustling through the phone.
“Hang on. I think our son just moved.”
Footsteps.
A door creaks.
“You eavesdropping on me, buddy?” Harvey calls.
A thud.
“Ow. Okay. He just threw his alpaca at me.”
“He’s throwing stuff now?”
“Told you, I’m in the trenches.”
“You think he’s mad at me? For leaving?” she murmurs, her voice fragile.
“No,” Harvey says, steady. “He just misses you.”
Donna stands, already reaching for her coat. “I’m coming home.”
•••
Donna has barely crossed the threshold when Harvey appears in the hallway, looking like a wounded golden retriever left out in the rain. His hair’s tousled, eyes hollow with something between exhaustion and defeat, and there’s a faint smudge of what might be applesauce on his shoulder.
“Thank God you’re here,” he groans, voice frayed and low. “Our son hates me.”
Before she can get out a word, he’s on her, arms wrapping tight around her waist as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. Then, dramatically—predictably—he slides lower, nestling his cheek right into her cleavage like it’s a lifeline. A heavy breath shudders out of him, the sound almost a sob, the warmth of it sending a chill across her skin. Donna’s arms fold around him, her chin resting on the crown of his head as if this is the most natural place for him to fall apart.
“That’s it, honey,” she whispers, smoothing her hand in slow, steady circles along his back. “Just breathe.” She holds him like that, letting him sag against her, taking on his weight like a shield until his body begins to soften and his breathing evens out. Only then does she murmur, “Where’s Cooper?”
Harvey mumbles something incoherent into her chest. She waits. “Bed,” he finally says. A beat passes. “And where’s this lunch I’m supposed to be suffering through?”
Donna eases back just enough to frame his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing lightly along his jaw. His eyes flutter shut for half a second before he looks up at her, raw and wrecked. “Address is already in the car’s GPS,” she says gently. “But promise me something.”
He nods, eyes scanning hers.
“Drive safe,” she says, more serious now. “You’re wound tighter than a Rolex, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Harvey’s lips quirk, but the look he gives her is pure gravity. Then he leans in, catching her mouth in a kiss that’s unhurried, warm, and brimming with everything he doesn’t have words for. His fingers trace the curve of her cheekbone, his touch featherlight, reverent. When they part, the love in his eyes is so palpable it steals her breath.
“I love you big much,” he says hoarsely.
“Stealing Cooper’s lines now?” she responds, smirking.
“You’re supposed to say, ‘I love you bigger,’” he counters with a pout, clearly rehearsed.
She snorts. “You know that’s not how this works. I shouldn’t have to say it back.” His mouth drops open in mock offense, but she silences the retort with another kiss, quicker this time, teasing. Just enough to leave him chasing it. “I love you the biggest,” she murmurs against his lips. “Now go. And try not to punch him right away. I need to close that deal first.”
A slow, wicked grin spreads across Harvey's face. “Did you just say what I think you did?”
Donna raises one perfectly arched brow. “Depends. What do you think I said?”
He chuckles. “That I have permission to hurt Cole. Just a little.”
She pats his chest. “No injuries. Just intimidation.”
“Fine. I’ll make sure we shake hands on the deal before I break ’em.”
Donna laughs and swats his backside as she breezes past him. “And you wonder why Cooper’s such a drama queen.”
She heads straight for Cooper’s room, expecting to find him buried under blankets. But the bed is empty, rumpled sheets, cool to the touch. His favorite storybook lies open on the pillow, abandoned mid-page. For a second, she’s confused. Didn’t Harvey say—
And then it clicks.
The master bedroom.
Her side of the bed.
Of course.
Because when the world feels too loud, when his little body aches and Mommy’s been gone too long, that’s where he goes. Not just to sleep. To be. To burrow into her scent, her space, as if proximity could summon her back faster.
Something inside her crumples, just a little.
God, he's the most sensitive soul!
The door creaks softly as Donna eases it open, and before she can step inside, a small, furious voice cuts through the quiet: “No! Go ’way! Want Mommy!”
In the daylight filtering through the curtains, she spots the lump under the covers, trembling with hiccupping sobs. His stuffed alpaca lies abandoned on the floor, one threadbare ear bent at a forlorn angle. She freezes in the doorway, gutted by the sight. Then she moves, slow and deliberate, each step its own act of surrender. Cooper’s muffled cries twist in her chest like a knife.
“Make Mommy come home!”
Her breath catches. Why does love this fierce have to hurt so much? It’s an ache with no off switch, equal parts overwhelming and sacred. To be someone’s entire world, to be needed this desperately, is a happiness so sharp it borders on pain.
Her son loves her the way storms love the sky—loud, untamed, with no concept of moderation. And Harvey? He loves her like the tide loves the shore—inevitable, relentless, always returning. But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is the heartbroken toddler in her bed.
“Mama’s here, sweetheart,” she whispers, stooping to scoop up the alpaca and placing it gently on the nightstand.
There’s a shift under the covers. A stillness. Then, slowly, a tousled tuft of hair emerges, followed by one swollen, red-rimmed eye, blinking up at her with theatrical suspicion. For a moment, he just stares, as if she might be a mirage. Then—
“MAMA!”
The blankets explode as he throws himself at her, arms outstretched, face crumpling all over again. Donna catches him mid-air, drawing him tight against her chest like she’s trying to fuse them back together. She closes her eyes and presses her lips to his hairline, holding him close, willing herself not to cry. Jesus. Three years in, and these mommy hormones still ambush her like a freight train.
She shifts Cooper’s weight as she carries him toward the bathroom, his body burning with fever, damp and limp against her collarbone.
“My body hurts,” he whimpers, voice thin and frayed.
“I know, baby,” she murmurs, kissing his temple, tasting salt and fever. “I'm gonna take care of you, okay? Just hold on to me.”
But when she kneels to set him down on the bathroom rug, he stiffens, his fingers twisting into the fabric of her dress with a strength that surprises her. The material pulls taut, threads straining under his grip, one sharp tug away from tearing.
“No, no! Don’t put me down!” Panic increases the pitch of his voice, sends his breathing off rhythm.
“Shhh,” Donna soothes, cupping the back of his head, stroking the downy hair at his nape. “I’m not going anywhere. Look, I’m staying right here.” She sinks down with him still wrapped around her, knees pressing into cold tile. “I just need my hands to start the bath. That’s all, I promise.”
His eyes search hers, and the sheer trust in them undoes her completely. Absolute, blinding trust. He believes she can make this better. That she’s magic. And God, she wishes it were that simple. Wishes that were true. That she could take all his pain away.
For a moment, she just holds him, feeling the staccato flutter of his pulse against her wrist like a trapped bird. Then he loosens his grip just enough for her to reach over and twist the faucet. The water pours out, hot and quick, steam unfurling into the air.
“Nice and warm,” she hums, testing the temperature with her elbow. “Like a hug.”
Cooper sniffles but doesn’t let go, so she works one-handed to peel off his damp pajamas, tugging gently at the clammy fabric. When she finally gets them off, he slumps against her, his bare skin flushed and trembling.
“There we go.” She bundles him closer, her hand firm and steady. “Now here’s the plan: first, the bath. Then medicine. Then—” she taps his nose, coaxing a weak giggle, “—someone very fuzzy is waiting for cuddles.”
Donna eases him into the tub, supporting his back as the water rises. His tense little body resists for a second—breath hitching, toes curling—before the heat works its magic. She watches his shoulders drop and his face soften, a long, shuddering sigh escaping him.
“That’s it,” she whispers, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “Already better, huh?”
Cooper’s bottom lip juts out, unconvinced, but he doesn’t fight her as she reaches for the washcloth and dips it into the water, letting it soak up warmth before pressing it gently to his back. His skin is still flushed, tiny goosebumps rising where it touches.
“When you were in my tummy,” Donna says, wringing out the cloth into a little waterfall, “I took so many baths, I could’ve passed for a mermaid.”
Cooper looks up at her, curiosity flickering through the misery. “Why?”
She smiles, her mind drifting back to those nights bathed in lavender light. Harvey slipping into the oversized tub behind her, his chest warm against her back, one hand resting on the curve of her belly like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched. Whispered reassurances she hadn’t believed at the time, but needed to hear anyway.
“Because you,” she boops his nose, “were a tiny acrobat. Always kicking my ribs, doing somersaults.” She mimics an explosion with her hands. “The warm water was the only thing that calmed you down.”
A smile breaks across his face—small, lopsided, real.
Donna grins, catching the moment like lightning in a bottle. She wets the cloth again, drizzling water over his knees. “But Daddy and I loved feeling you move. It meant you were happy in there.”
Donna smiles, sighing softly as she leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of Cooper’s head, letting her lips linger. There isn’t a day she doesn’t thank the universe for this boy. For every minute he grew safely inside her. For every terrifying moment they made it through.
Motherhood isn’t just love, it’s astonishment. That her body made this wild, brilliant creature. That her heart could stretch so wide without breaking. That somehow, impossibly, she gets to be his mom. Harvey’s wife. Herself. All at once. And every version of her is exactly where she wants to be.
She reaches for the baby shampoo, squeezing a pearl-sized drop into her palm. “Alright, champ. Time for the fancy part.” She rubs her hands together, creating a frothy lather. “Close your eyes. No peeking.” Cooper obeys immediately, scrunching his face with exaggerated concentration. Donna has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Even sick, the kid’s a performer.
Her fingers sink into his curls—softer than dandelion fluff, Harvey’s texture but with her stubborn cowlicks. She massages his hair in slow circles, watching him melt beneath her touch. “See? Not so bad,” she murmurs as the familiar scent of chamomile and vanilla rises between them. The same one they’ve used since his first bath. (Lately, he prefers strawberry shampoo.)
A memory flickers in her mind—Harvey standing nervously over the sink that night, sleeves rolled up, his hands uncharacteristically clumsy as he tested the water temperature again and again, muttering, “How do people do this without a manual?” Her mouth quirks. He’d been so completely undone by nine pounds of swaddled mystery.
Cooper pulls her back with a whiny reminder: “Mama... You’re ’posed to rinse now.”
“Bossy,” Donna teases, but reaches for the plastic cup perched beside the tub. As she tips his head back gently, she cups a hand over his forehead.
“Ready for the waterfall?”
He nods solemnly, gripping the edges of the tub like he's riding a rollercoaster, and she pours a warm stream of water over his scalp. Suds swirl away, revealing flushed cheeks and droopy lashes. Her boy. Her miracle.
“All done,” she announces, brushing a thumb over his soapy cheek. “Time to evacuate.”
She pulls the plug, the bathwater spiraling down the drain, as Cooper lifts his arms on cue. She hooks her hands under his armpits, hoisting him up with a soft grunt. Water runs in rivulets off his limbs, drumming back into the tub. His legs wobble.
“Whoa there, sailor.”
She steadies him against her hip, reaching for the oversized hooded towel draped over the radiator. The one with little rocket ships and cartoon planets he refuses to part with, even though the edges are curled and frayed, with loose threads hanging like tassels. Wrapping him up feels like bundling a soggy, overgrown kitten—if kittens had damp elbows and a death grip on your neck.
“Cold,” he whimpers, burrowing deeper into the towel—into her—as she scoops him fully into her arms.
“I’ve got you,” she whispers, rubbing his back through the thick terry cloth. His head rests against her collarbone, his warmth seeping into her skin, and she sways with him gently for a moment, letting them both breathe. Then she kisses his temple and murmurs, “Let’s go get you some medicine.”
He looks up at her with that exhausted but trusting gaze of a child who believes, without hesitation, that Mommy can fix anything.
Donna carries him to the kitchen, where the afternoon sun slants through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the counter. Cooper watches, heavy-lidded, as she fills a small glass of water and splits a Tylenol tablet with her fingernail.
“Open up,” she instructs.
He obeys with a grimace, letting the half-pill dissolve on his tongue before washing it down in dramatic gulps.
“There. Done.” She wipes his mouth with a dish towel. “Now... cereal? Maybe some banana slices?”
Cooper considers this with the gravitas of a judge. “Cereal,” he declares. “With honey.”
Donna smirks. “A man of taste.”
She drizzles honey over a bowl of oat rings—his current obsession, though she knows it’ll be something new by Tuesday—and carries it to the living room. Cooper shuffles to the couch and crawls beneath the fleece throw Donna always keeps draped over the armrest. His robe pools around him like a deflated balloon, hood slipping over one eye.
She hands him the bowl and sits beside him, tucking the blanket around his feet. Then she brushes her hand over his sun-kissed cheek, her touch featherlight, before she rests her palm against his forehead—still too warm. The thermometer confirms it.
“Damn,” she whispers, more to herself than to him.
“You said a bad word,” Cooper mumbles through a mouthful of cereal, milk dribbling down his chin.
“And you, mister,” she counters, poking his side playfully, “are still a little furnace.” She sighs, reaching for the glass of water on the coffee table. “One more sip. Then we negotiate movie rights.”
He drinks obediently, but his eyes don’t leave her face. “You can get sick too,” he says suddenly, clutching her sleeve. “Daddy said you have ’portant meetings.”
Her heart stutters.
Of course Harvey told him.
Of course their little sponge of a son soaked up every word... and twisted it into guilt.
She tucks a stray curl behind his ear, her voice softening. “Hey, if I had to choose between my work and being sick at home with you…” She pauses, watching his eyes track hers. “What do you think I’d pick?”
Cooper’s grin creeps in, slow and sly. “Me?”
“Always you,” she confirms, kissing his forehead. “Even if you’re a germ factory.”
He giggles, curling deeper into the blanket. Donna places the empty bowl on the table and grabs the remote. But before she can continue, a tiny voice halts her: “Do you think Daddy’s mad at me?”
Her thumb stills mid-stroke against his hair. “What? Why would Daddy be mad at you?”
“’Cause I didn’t want him,” Cooper murmurs. His voice is small. Fragile. “I only wanted you.”
Donna’s chest tightens. She turns toward him fully and cups his face, guiding his gaze back to hers. “Oh, Cooper.” Her voice trembles just slightly. “Daddy could never be mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His lower lip wobbles.
“Sometimes a little boy just needs his mama. And Daddy understands that.”
“Really?” he whispers, blinking up at her with wet lashes still clumped from the bath.
“Really,” she whispers back, nuzzling his nose. “Even Daddy just wants Mommy sometimes.”
He snorts, giggling through his congestion. Donna grins and leans back against the cushions, draping an arm around him and pulling him into the curve of her body.
“Alright,” she says. “What movie does my patient demand?”
“The wedding movie,” he answers instantly. “It’s my favorite.”
She freezes for a split second. “Daddy’s and mine?”
He nods, nestling closer. His hair brushes the hollow of her throat.
Donna swallows hard. “That’s my favorite movie too,” she says softly, a sudden warmth flooding her.
She turns on the TV and scrolls through the cloud folder until the thumbnail appears: her in that sleek black gown, eyes closed, arms looped around Harvey during their first dance. She remembers that exact second. The music fading into the walls. The way he held her like they’d already survived a lifetime. (Technically, they had.) The way everything else disappeared.
As she presses play, the video begins with Harvey standing at the altar, tie already loosened like he’d been pacing in nervous circles. His hands fidget behind his back, eyes scanning the aisle as if he couldn’t wait one more second.
Cooper perks up, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Daddy looks… weird,” he declares.
Donna chuckles. “Weird how, baby?”
“He’s smiling too much,” he says, nose wrinkling. “Like this.” He stretches his mouth into an exaggerated, toothy grin—pure Halloween jack-o’-lantern.
Donna laughs out loud. “That’s because he was happy, goofball.”
But even now, having watched this video a hundred times, she isn’t ready. Ready for how it makes her feel.
To see Harvey standing there in that tux, all swagger stripped away, his usual smirk replaced by something unbearably soft as he looks at her like she’s made of starlight.
Mike in the background, grinning like a man who just closed the most satisfying deal of his life—because it was a victory, seeing them get here. Seeing them finally choose each other.
And then there's her, walking toward Harvey on borrowed time—because Louis and Sheila had bolted for the hospital—with no plan, no choreography, just the certainty that this man was hers. She was walking toward him... and that had always been the plan.
Cooper gasps, pointing at the screen. “There’s you! And—whoa.” He blinks up at her. “Your dress is shiny.”
“It was, huh?” Donna grins.
“You look soooo pretty.”
She lets out a soft laugh, brushing away a tear with the heel of her hand. “Why thank you!”
Onscreen, Harvey’s voice cracks during his vows.
Hers, too.
But I know even if it’s a hundred years, I'll never have enough time with you.
Yup. Still true.
She meant it when she said forever with him wouldn’t be long enough.
Then the music swells. Harvey pulling her to the dance floor, his palm searing through the silk at her waist, their smiles so big they're splitting their cheeks. The song: Perfect by Ed Sheeran. Because of course Harvey would pick something that made Mike roll his eyes—how cheesy!—and her knees go weak. She didn’t even realize he’d chosen it until he told her later, halfway through their wedding night.
Cooper stares, mesmerized, as his parents sway in soft, slow circles. “Why’s Daddy holding you like that?” he mumbles, his words slurring slightly as sleep creeps in.
“Like what, sweetie?”
“Like...” He gestures vaguely, his tiny fingers curling in the air. “Like you’re breakable.”
Donna’s breath hitches in her throat. “Aww, baby.” She pulls him closer, kisses his temple. “That’s just how he holds the things he loves most.”
Cooper goes quiet, processing, his eyelids drooping.
Onscreen, Harvey leans in, murmuring something low into her ear—too soft for the mic to catch—and her face softens in response.
“What’d he say?” Cooper asks, fighting a yawn.
“Guess.”
“Umm…” His brow furrows. “‘Donna, you’re annoying’?”
She pinches his hip. “Try again.”
He giggles, a wet, drowsy sound. “‘I love you big much’?”
“Close.” Donna smiles. “He said, ‘This is forever.’”
Cooper nods like that settles it, like it’s a fact of the universe. His thumb inches toward his mouth, a habit he’s mostly broken, except when sick or clinging to comfort. She doesn’t stop him.
“Mama?” he whispers.
“Yeah, honey?”
“Can we have a wedding too?”
Her heart liquefies.
“Anytime you want.”
“With Superman cake,” he murmurs, half into his thumb.
“Obviously.”
Cooper reaches for her hand, pressing a sloppy kiss to her palm, a gesture he’s copied from Harvey, down to the dramatic smack at the end. “I love you, Mama.”
“I love you too,” she whispers, locking her fingers around his.
Cooper’s weight grows heavier against Donna’s chest, his breaths deepening into the slow, even rhythm of sleep. She should turn the wedding video off. She should carry him to bed. Instead, she continues watching. And when it stops... she hits replay.
•••
A hand brushes her shoulder.
“Donna.”
She stirs, blinking up at Harvey’s shadowed face. The TV screen paused on a close-up of their slightly younger selves mid-laugh.
“What time’zit?” she slurs, her voice thick with sleep.
Harvey doesn't answer, just sweeps his thumb under her eye, catching a dried tear she hadn’t realized was there. “You’re gonna wreck your back like this.”
She shifts, wincing as her spine pops in protest—yep, definitely slept at a forty-five-degree angle. Her eyes drop to Cooper, still out cold against her, breathing slow and even.
Harvey doesn’t wait for permission. He bends, sliding one arm under Cooper’s knees and the other around his back, lifting him with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times. Their son doesn’t even stir, his head lolling against Harvey’s shoulder.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, carrying the toddler down the hall.
Donna stretches, listening to the quiet sounds of Harvey tucking Cooper in—the creak of the bedframe, the soft click of the nightlight, the absentminded “Love you, buddy” he always whispers, even when Cooper’s too asleep to hear it.
When Harvey returns, he’s shed his jacket and loosened his collar, sleeves rolled up like always when he’s settling in. He sinks onto the couch beside her with a tired sigh, immediately wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. Donna goes willingly, melting into his side, her cheek against his chest.
“How was the meeting?” she murmurs, eyes drifting shut again.
“I wanted to strangle him every time he opened his mouth,” Harvey sniffs. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “But I got him to sign. And I made dinner while you were sleeping. It's in the oven.”
Donna lifts her head just enough to brush her fingers along his cheek. “You know you’re the best husband in the world, right?” she says softly. “And you’re an amazing father, Harvey. No matter what happened this morning. He adores you.”
He sighs deeply. “I know. It’s just... hard. Not being able to give him what he needs.”
She kisses his cheek. “I know.”
They sit like that for a beat, the paused image on the screen glowing quietly in front of them.
“So,” Harvey says, nudging his chin toward the TV, “how many times have you watched this?”
“Not nearly enough,” Donna breathes.
He chuckles. “Guess we should be thankful Louis hired a videographer.” It sounds like a jab, but she hears the truth under it—he means it.
“Cooper asked for a wedding today,” she mumbles into his shirt.
Harvey lifts a brow. “What, like a toy one?”
“No. A real one. With a Superman cake.”
He huffs a quiet laugh.
“Christ. He really is my kid.” His hand trails lazy circles on her hip. “Should I be worried he was watching our wedding video instead of Paw Patrol?”
Donna tilts her head up, a smirk curling at her lips. “He said you looked weird, because you were smiling too much.”
“Goddamn traitor.” But Harvey’s grinning as he says it, his free hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know… we could renew our vows. Get him that Superman cake.”
She gaps softly, eyes flicking up to his. “Are you serious?”
His arm tightens around her. “I’d marry you every damn day if you’d let me.”
“Promises, promises,” she sighs, but she’s already curling into him, her leg hooking over his.
Harvey reaches for the remote, glancing at the paused screen. And… hits play.