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Chan stood in the center of the living room, the quiet hum of the vacuum cleaner finally winding down to silence as he gave the power button one last press. He straightened, rolled his shoulders with a satisfied sigh, then grabbed a microfiber cloth to swipe at the last fingerprint smudge on the entertainment unit.
Done. At last.
He opened a few windows around the house, the soft creak of the hinges breaking the stillness as the crisp Australian breeze rolled in. A gentle gust slipped through the mesh screen and teased the loose strands of his hair, carrying with it the familiar scent of eucalyptus, sun-warmed pavement, and just a trace of the ocean far in the distance. It was the kind of breeze that promised clarity, freshness—a new beginning.
He stood there for a moment, letting it all wash over him. The scent, the quiet, the satisfaction of a house in order.
Then he did one last slow scan of the space. The polished floors gleamed faintly beneath the afternoon light. The cushions were fluffed, the kitchen counters wiped down and glinting. Everything was in its place. Neat. Serene.
It was good.
It was okay.
It should have felt peaceful.
But instead, a strange stillness pressed against his chest. Something felt... off. Too quiet. Too still.
His gaze drifted to the hallway.
No tapping of paws across the wooden floor. No excited barks from Berry. No eager scrabbling against the front door or soft thuds as she leapt onto furniture she knew she wasn't supposed to be on.
And no YN.
No gentle hums from the kitchen. No soft laughter echoing off the walls. No whispered complaints about how "this baby has no chill" while she adjusted her body pillow for the hundredth time. No scent of the cocoa butter she used religiously on her stretching skin.
No sound of her bare feet padding across the floor. No sight of her rounding belly proudly swaying in one of his oversized t-shirts. No presence.
And that wasn't right.
That wasn't good.
The house wasn't supposed to feel this empty.
A knot started to form low in his stomach as he rose from the couch. "YN?" he called out, voice not loud, but alert. "Berry?"
Nothing.
A prickle of unease ran up his spine as he moved quickly through the lower floor, checking room after room. Kitchen. Office. Guest bathroom. Sunroom. Even the laundry. No sign of either of them.
No trail of Berry's chew toys scattered across the rug. No discarded pair of fuzzy socks YN always kicked off mid-afternoon. Not even the faint buzz of a podcast playing on her phone.
Just silence.
He took the stairs two at a time, suddenly very aware of the hollowness of each footstep.
"YN?" he tried again, louder now, with an edge of worry laced into her name.
It wasn't panic, not yet. But it was something close to it.
Hallway. Nursery. Spare room. Guest bath. Still nothing.
Then he stopped in front of their bedroom door. It was slightly ajar, a faint crack of light spilling through. He pushed it open slowly, heart thudding in anticipation.
And there they were.
Relief crashed over him in a quiet, soul-deep wave.
His breath caught in his throat at the sight before him.
YN was curled on her side, cocooned around her pregnancy pillow, her body molded to its shape like it was the only thing keeping her afloat in sleep. Her box braids spilled out in all directions across the pillowcase and sheets like a halo, glinting softly in the afternoon light. Her face was relaxed, her expression serene in a way only sleep could bring her lately.
And nestled right up against her, curled gently into the curve of her belly, was Berry. The little Cavalier's head rested on YN's stomach like it was the most natural pillow in the world, her soft ears twitching slightly as she dreamed. One tiny paw even draped protectively over the rise of YN's bump, as if she knew exactly what—who—was growing there.
Chan swallowed thickly, his chest tightening with something that felt too big to name. A cocktail of love, gratitude, awe, and quiet heartbreak all tangled into one.
There they were.
His girls.
All three of them.
And suddenly, everything was more than okay.
Everything was right.
He stayed in the doorway for a long moment, just watching. Soaking them in. Burning the image into memory.
Because this—this was what home was.
Not clean floors or wiped-down counters or folded laundry.
This.
YN, radiant even in sleep, her body working overtime to grow the tiny miracle they had made together. Berry, loyal and sweet, already guarding the baby she somehow instinctively understood was part of their family.
His girls. His heart.
His everything.
He exhaled slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Found you," he whispered to the quiet, more to himself than anyone else. "Could've warned me before disappearing like that."
No response, of course. Just the rhythm of YN's breath, deep and steady, and a twitch of Berry's paw.
He stepped further into the room, moving slowly, reverently, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile perfection of the scene before him.
The door creaked softly behind him as it closed, but neither YN nor Berry stirred. The only sounds in the room were the faint rustle of the ceiling fan and the rhythmic inhale and exhale of sleep-soaked breath.
Chan approached the bed with quiet, deliberate steps, his gaze fixed on the two souls curled up together like they belonged to another world entirely. And maybe they did. Maybe this room—this sacred, softly lit corner of the universe—was a place time paused. A place where love lived in silence and stillness.
He lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress, careful not to shift it too much, not to disturb the delicate arrangement of bodies and peace that lay there. His weight dipped into the bed, but YN didn't stir. She looked so soft, so completely at ease in sleep, the soft rise and fall of her chest timed perfectly with the movements of Berry's tiny body. His eyes swept over them, heart clenching with a pressure that almost hurt.
God, how did he get so lucky?
He leaned forward and brushed a slow, lingering kiss to YN's temple, allowing his lips to rest there just a beat longer than necessary, inhaling the faint, familiar scent of her skin—faint lavender and cocoa butter and something uniquely her.
Then he shifted downward, placing another gentle kiss to the crown of her belly, where the thin fabric of her shirt stretched over the curve of their daughter. His lips lingered, and a soft whisper left him, reverent and full of something too big to name.
And then one more kiss, this one atop Berry's soft, silky fur, right between her floppy ears. The pup let out a sigh, nestled even closer against YN's stomach in response. He chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
His girls.
He sat back and just looked at them, soaking in the sight as if his memory might one day fail him and he'd need to paint this moment again and again in his mind. Then, carefully, lovingly, he lay down behind YN, molding himself along the curve of her back, pressing his chest to her spine, his face near her shoulder. His arm draped over her waist, hand spreading gently across the crest of her belly, fingers splaying with reverence.
The other arm curved protectively around Berry, fingers instinctively brushing her fur. His eyes fluttered closed, the warmth from both of them seeping into him like sunlight. For a few minutes, he just let himself be. No thoughts. No worries. Just this quiet, incandescent fullness.
But then—something shifted beneath his hand.
It was soft, but unmistakable.
A tiny nudge. A flutter. Then another.
His eyes shot open, heart skipping.
She was awake.
Their daughter. Still hidden away inside her mother's womb, but very much present at four months. Moving.
He blinked in stunned awe as his hand froze instinctively over YN's belly, barely daring to breathe.
And then—another small kick.
He laughed under his breath, wonder blooming inside him, his chest tightening all over again.
"She's awake," he whispered, a grin tugging at his lips.
A jolt of excitement ran through him, pure and electric. That tiny movement beneath his palm—their daughter saying hello in her own language.
He leaned in a little closer to YN's belly, lowering his voice to a hush, careful not to disturb the sleeping girls beside him.
"Hi, princess," he murmured softly, his thumb instinctively beginning to rub slow circles over her. "It's Daddy."
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"We've been waiting on you, you know?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the hush of the room. "Your mommy and I... we talk about you all the time. We dream about you. What you'll look like. Whether you'll have her smile. My eyes. Or the complete opposite."
He chuckled again, eyes closing briefly as he imagined it.
"You've already got your mommy's appetite," he added in a mock whisper. "She sends me out at midnight for mangoes and honey mustard chips. So thanks for that."
He paused, glancing up briefly at YN's sleeping face. Her features were so relaxed, even in rest. He felt her shift slightly, murmuring something incoherent in her sleep.
He kissed her shoulder gently.
"Mommy's sleeping right now," he whispered to the belly again. "She's tired—growing you is hard work. But she's doing such an amazing job. You should be proud of her. I know I am."
He tilted his head to look at Berry.
"And your sister, Berry, she's out cold too," he added with a low laugh. "But she already loves you. She guards Mommy's belly like it's her favorite thing in the world. Wait 'til you two meet. She'll probably try to lick your face as soon as you come out."
The baby moved again beneath his palm, a small press that made his heart jump.
His smile softened.
"I know the world must sound strange from in there," he said quietly. "Muffled. Like a dream. But we're out here waiting. Loving you already. And when you come out, we'll be right here to hold you. Every second. Every minute."
He paused, his voice thickening with emotion.
"We'll mess up sometimes, I won't lie," Chan murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he kept his hand pressed gently to the warm curve of YN's belly. "We're going to get things wrong—me especially. I already forget where we put the car keys half the time, so I'm not promising perfection."
A quiet laugh escaped him, hushed and breathy, like he was afraid even the sound might wake the sleeping girls beside him. His thumb brushed soft, slow circles across YN's skin through the thin cotton of her shirt.
"But I swear," he continued, voice deepening with conviction, "we'll love you harder than anything else we've ever done. Fiercely. Wildly. Without apology. Because you, baby girl... you're already the best thing we've ever made."
As if in perfect, divine timing, another gentle flutter pulsed beneath his palm—a tiny kick, subtle but certain.
His breath hitched. He smiled, eyes burning just slightly with unshed tears.
"You heard that, didn't you?" he whispered, eyes soft. "Yeah... I thought so."
The movement stilled for a moment, and he let silence hold them all. The room, lit only by soft afternoon light filtering through the window, seemed suspended in something sacred. And then he shifted just slightly closer, lips nearly brushing the curve of YN's stomach as he continued.
"You know, your momma's been going through it lately," he said with a quiet exhale, his tone dipping into something tender, concerned. "She's been so sick. It breaks my heart, princess."
His fingers tightened slightly where they rested.
"She throws up a lot," he went on gently, like he was confiding in a secret only the baby could understand. "Sometimes it happens in the middle of the night, and I'll wake up to the sound of her running to the bathroom... and all I can do is rub her back and hold her hair while she's in there, just trying to keep something down."
He paused, his chest rising and falling slowly.
"She never complains," he said, the words hushed in reverence. "She's so strong. But I can tell it's wearing on her."
He let out a soft, rueful laugh.
"And let me tell you... you've got some interesting cravings, baby girl. Pickles. Ice cream. Mango dipped in soy sauce. But the pickles? Oh, sweetheart, your momma hates them. Or at least she did. Before you."
He laughed again, a little louder this time, then lowered his voice to a gentle murmur.
"She eats them now because you want them," he said, emotion laced through his tone. "She makes this little face, like she's about to cry and gag at the same time, but she eats them anyway. That's how much she already loves you."
He shook his head, smiling into the fabric of YN's shirt as he kissed the place where their daughter grew.
"You're giving Mommy a run for her money, huh?" he teased gently, eyes closing. "Kicking her bladder. Making her cry over commercials. Sending her into a full meltdown because the strawberries were too soft. And throwing up every other day like it's your favorite sport."
Another small kick answered him, almost defiant, and he gasped with mock offense.
"Oh, so we're sassy now too?" he whispered with a grin. "Wow. Just like your mother."
He looked at YN then, really looked at her.
The way her brows furrowed slightly even in sleep. The faintest shine of moisture on her lips from breathing through her mouth. One hand curled around the edge of her pillow, the other resting protectively against her belly, even in her dreams.
"She doesn't say it out loud, but I know it's hard on her," he whispered, his smile fading into something more fragile. "The fatigue. The nausea. The dizziness. Sometimes I find her just sitting on the bathroom floor, breathing through it, trying to pretend it's not as bad as it is. And I hate that I can't fix it for her."
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead gently against her back, the words trembling on his tongue.
"I'd take every bit of it for her if I could," he whispered. "The sickness. The soreness. The sleepless nights. Every cramp. Every heave. I'd carry it all if it meant she could feel a little lighter."
He let the silence settle again, breathing in her scent, grounding himself in the warmth of their shared space.
"So maybe," he said, a soft smile playing on his lips as he pressed another kiss to her belly, "you could take it a little easy on her in the throw-up department, hmm?"
He waited for a response like she might understand—like she could somehow hear and choose to be gentler.
"She's doing her best," he added, quieter now, voice thick. "And Daddy really doesn't like seeing her like that. So... just be kind, okay? Give her a break every now and then. You've got time to be a little wild thing once you're out here with us."
Another nudge.
Less of a kick this time. More like a slow roll. A shift.
He smiled through a breath that caught in his throat, overcome by the miracle of this tiny, unseen person growing just beneath his hand.
"I can't believe we made you," he whispered. "You're not even here yet, and I'm already so in love with you."
He lay there a moment longer, cradling YN's belly, his fingers absently stroking the soft cotton fabric.
Outside, a magpie warbled in the distance, and the breeze lifted the edge of the curtain once more, letting golden light spill deeper into the room. Berry shifted in her sleep and let out a low whine, snuggling even closer into YN's side. YN's breathing stayed steady and slow, completely undisturbed.
Chan swallowed against the lump rising in his throat.
"This little family we've got... it's everything," Chan whispered, lips brushing gently against the curve of her belly one final time, reverent and soft. He stayed there for a beat, breathing in the faint warmth of her skin, as if imprinting the moment into his very bones.
"You. Mommy. Berry. Me," he murmured, each word a vow. "That's all I need."
His smile curved faintly against her, small but content. A quiet kind of joy—the kind that didn't need fireworks or noise to make itself known. Just the hush of their shared world, and the steady, growing thrum of love that pulsed like a second heartbeat beneath his palm.
He let out a breath, long and slow, before nestling closer to her side, resting his cheek just beneath the swell of her belly. One arm still draped around her, the other gently curled over Berry's dozing body.
His eyes fluttered shut.
"We're ready for you, princess," he whispered into the stillness. "Whenever you are."
And for a moment, everything went still again.
But then—a shift. A rustle. Barely a sound, but familiar.
YN stirred.
Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks before her eyes slowly, sleepily opened. Her gaze was hazy with drowsiness, but as soon as she saw him nestled at her side, she blinked, recognition pulling a soft smile to her lips.
"Hon..." she whispered, her voice thick with sleep, rough and gentle like velvet rubbed the wrong way.
Chan turned toward her instantly, his entire face lighting up, the tenderness in his eyes deepening as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, right where it was warmest. The kiss lingered, then moved upward to her jawline, slow and unhurried.
"Hi, beautiful," he murmured into her skin, his voice low and laced with affection, like even three words weren't enough to hold what he felt.
YN hummed softly at the kiss, eyes closing for a brief moment again before she cracked them open and gave him a curious look, her lips curling faintly.
"What are you doing?" she asked, voice still hoarse from sleep, but laced with amusement, her free hand blindly reaching down to find his. Her fingers laced delicately through his hand resting on her belly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles.
The gleam of her wedding ring caught the fading light from the window—diamond bold and unmissable, shimmering with the kind of quiet certainty that mirrored the life they were building.
Chan gave her hand a small squeeze, intertwining their fingers a little tighter as he looked up at her. His expression softened.
"I was talking to baby girl," he said, voice a little bashful, but unashamed. He rubbed gentle circles over her belly with his thumb as if to emphasize his point.
YN's brow arched slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she rolled her head toward him more fully. "Yeah?" she asked, the corners of her eyes still crinkled from sleep. "About what?"
Chan let out a small breathy chuckle, shifting to sit up on one elbow so he could see her better, his palm never leaving her stomach.
"Well," he said, feigning casualness, though his voice still held that soft reverence from moments before, "she was kicking a little—just enough to say hey. So I figured it was as good a time as any to have a chat."
YN's smile deepened, her hand resting atop his now as she tilted her head. "Was she?" she asked, her eyes lighting up. "I felt her earlier but I wasn't sure if it was her or if I was dreaming again."
"Nope. It was her," Chan confirmed with a grin, tapping her belly gently. "She's already got timing like her mama. Got my attention with the softest little kick just after I finished cleaning up downstairs."
He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And she's already got a lot to say, apparently."
YN laughed softly. "What did you talk about, hmm?"
"Oh, you know," he said, letting the words draw out as he looked at her playfully. "All the important things. How much we love her. How ready we are for her. How her big sister Berry's already staked out her territory."
Berry shifted at the sound of her name, letting out a sigh in her sleep, still curled in the crook of YN's legs like a guardian at rest.
YN chuckled and brushed her thumb across Chan's knuckles again, her voice softening. "What else?"
Chan's gaze fell back to her stomach, his expression turning tender again, deep with thought.
"I told her you've been feeling sick," he said after a moment, quieter now. "How she's been giving you a hard time with the nausea and those late-night cravings you pretend you don't hate."
YN groaned lightly, covering her eyes with the back of her hand. "Ugh. The pickles," she muttered. "I swear, if I have to eat one more soggy dill..."
Chan laughed, his hand smoothing over her belly. "I told her that," he said, eyes twinkling. "I said, 'Your mommy hates pickles, but she eats them anyway, just for you.' I told her you're already doing everything to take care of her—even when it sucks."
YN moved her hand and looked at him, her gaze softening.
"And I may or may not have asked her to take it a little easy on you," he added with a sheepish grin. "Told her Daddy doesn't like seeing Mommy sick. Or miserable. Or curled up on the bathroom floor at 3 a.m. trying to keep water down."
YN swallowed, the smile on her lips trembling slightly. "You really said that?"
He nodded. "I did."
She reached out with her free hand and cupped his cheek, her palm warm against his skin. "You're gonna be such a good dad," she whispered, eyes shimmering just a little.
Chan's throat tightened, his heart stuttering in his chest as he leaned into her touch.
"I just wanna do right by her," he murmured. "By all of you."
YN pulled him gently toward her, guiding his forehead to rest against hers. "You already are," she said. "Every day."
They stayed like that for a moment, eyes closed, breaths synced. And then another flutter—another little kick—danced beneath both their hands.
"There she goes again," Chan whispered, his voice full of wonder. "It's like she knows we're talking about her."
YN giggled, rubbing the spot with her fingers. "Or maybe she's just reminding us she's the main character."
Chan laughed. "True. She's already stealing the spotlight."
"And the pickles," YN groaned.
They both laughed, full and quiet, the sound blooming in the stillness of the room.
And beneath their hands, their daughter moved again—soft, steady, alive.
The future wasn't just coming. It was already here. Wrapped in skin and heartbeats and tiny kicks. Wrapped in love.
Wrapped in them.