Three Months Later…The soft afternoon light filtered through the sheer curtains of the Villareal home, painting the living room in shades of gold and rose. Dust motes drifted lazily in the glow, moving as if time itself had slowed to match the gentle rhythm of this new life. The once-quiet house, once too large and empty, now carried a different music—the tender cries of a newborn, the shuffle of tired but eager footsteps, and the mismatched lullabies of a man who had discovered a part of himself he never knew he had.Lucas sat on the couch, his shirt wrinkled, one sock missing, and a burp cloth hanging crookedly over his shoulder. His tie lay abandoned somewhere hours ago, and his hair was disheveled beyond repair, yet he looked more whole than ever before. In his arms, baby Louis wriggled, fighting sleep with tiny protests until his father’s low, steady hum began to soothe him. The melody was off-key, half-forgotten, but full of love."I think he likes it when you sing badly," Rhea
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