There was something… off.
Not wrong in an obvious way. Not something you could easily explain.
But something that didn’t belong in the eyes of a three-month-old child.
Awareness.
Too much awareness.
The baby’s grip tightened again, this time on Amira’s hand. She winced slightly.
“That hurts,” she said softly.
Daniel reached out instinctively. “Hey, easy—”
The baby turned his head sharply toward Daniel.
And growled.
They both froze.
It was faint. Almost subtle.
But unmistakable.
“That was just… a sound,” Amira said quickly, though her voice trembled.
Daniel didn’t respond.
Because he knew.
That wasn’t just a sound.
The baby’s expression shifted again, the tension melting away as suddenly as it had come. His grip loosened. His eyes softened.
And just like that, he looked like a normal baby again.
Amira let out a shaky breath. “Okay… okay. We’re just tired. It’s been a long day.”
Daniel nodded slowly, though he didn’t look convinced. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s all.”
They stood there for another moment, the wind whispering through the trees.
Then Amira adjusted her hold on the baby. “Let’s go home.”
—
The house greeted them with quiet warmth.
Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting soft patterns on the floor. Everything was ready—the crib, the blankets, the tiny clothes neatly folded in drawers. They had spent weeks preparing, imagining this moment.
Amira carried the baby inside, her movements gentle but purposeful.
“This is your home,” she whispered.
Daniel closed the door behind them, locking it out of habit.
He didn’t know why, but the sound of the lock clicking into place felt… important.
They settled the baby into the crib.
For a while, everything seemed normal again.
Too normal.
The baby slept peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.
Amira sat beside the crib, watching him.
