Page 40 of One Pucking Life

“It’s okay.”

“This is what you pay me for, Max. So you can sleep. Remember?”

“I know. She’s just so adorable right now.” My hand stills as my fingers brush against Delaney’s. A jolt of energy shoots through me.

She doesn’t react. Doesn’t flinch or even look up. Instead, she steps away and eases into the rocking chair, folding her legs beneath her while holding Caroline securely to her chest.

I lower myself to the floor, back resting against the crib. The three of us sit in silence, the white noise filling the space, broken only by Caroline’s soft, sleepy breaths.

“She’s so precious when she’s sleepy. It’s hard to put her down when she’s this cute. She’s getting so much bigger, too,” Delaney murmurs after a while.

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at them. “She is. I swear, every day, she changes just a little more.”

“They grow so fast at this age.” Delaney smiles. It’s small and warm and extraordinarily pretty.

My attention moves from my daughter to the woman holding her, and my skin flushes with heat. “This is unusual, right? Her waking up now? She’s been sleeping so well.”

“She’s been extra drooly. Might be cutting another tooth.”

I nod. “Makes sense.”

She looks stunning in the dim light. The soft glow from the night-light casts shadows across her face, highlighting the slope of her cheekbones and the curve of her jaw. Her skin looks soft, flawless, and real.

I hate how badly I want to reach out. To cup her jaw. To pull her closer. To feel what I’m not supposed to feel.

“I know I tell you every day,” I say quietly, “but you’re so great with her, Laney. Caroline is thriving—she’s happy, she’s safe, she’s so loved. We’re both lucky you’re here.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” she replies softly, cheeks flushing even in the dim light.

“You can take most of it. I had no idea what I was doing before you showed up.”

She meets my eyes over the top of Caroline’s soft curls, her voice even gentler now. “You’re doing great, Max. You’re a good dad.”

The words hit hard.Dad.It still doesn’t feel real. Like a title I’m wearing but haven’t earned.

I look away, letting my head rest against the crib. “She used to cry every night. I’d walk laps around this room, bouncing her, whispering to her. Nothing worked. I was so close to breaking.”

Delaney shifts Caroline a little higher on her chest. “You didn’t, though.”

“No,” I say. “I didn’t.”

She looks down at the baby, gently stroking her back. Caroline lets out a soft sigh and nestles deeper against her chest.

I watch them, taking it all in—her hands, her calm, the way she sways without even thinking about it. And something inside me shifts. I've always known she was beautiful. Anyone with eyes can see that. But it’s more than that now. She’s important. Needed. She’swanted—by me.

Maybe it’s the hour. Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re barefoot and bleary-eyed, sharing this impossibly quiet space. But I feel it—thick, heavy, real.

Delaney looks at me again, and I realize I’ve been staring.

“I should lay her back down,” she whispers.

But she doesn’t move.

I don’t either.

The moment stretches between us like a held breath.

Finally, she stands, slowly easing Caroline into her crib. She tucks the blanket around her tiny body, then steps back and crosses her arms like she’s trying to hold herself together.

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