Damian's P.O.V.
I glance over my shoulder at the sound of soft laughter from the living room. Kiera sits cross-legged on the couch, watching Caelum with pure adoration. Our son, determined and wobbly, makes his way across the floor with single-minded focus, his tiny hands slapping against the hardwood. Every few inches, he pauses, glances up at Kiera as if expecting praise, then continues on.
A smirk tugs at my lips. “You’re just showing off now, aren’t you?”
Caelum lets out a happy squeal, clearly pleased with himself. Kiera chuckles, running a hand through her hair. “He’s got your confidence, that’s for sure.”
I huff a laugh, turning back to the stove where eggs sizzle in the pan. “More like your stubbornness.”
She gasps in mock offense. “Excuse me?”
“I said what I said.”
A pillow
