Lucien had finally drifted off to sleep, his long lashes casting soft shadows over his cheeks. His head resting against my shoulder, warm and heavy, int that familiar way that made my heart ache. I couldn't resist leaning down, breathing in his fading, sweet baby scent. Wishing he'd never grow up. But time was cruel like that. In just a month, he'd be turning one.
One year old. No longer our precious newborn.
So I stayed there for a moment, cradling him close. Relishing on the feel of the gentle rise and fall of his back underneath my palm. The faint curl of his fingers tangled in my hair.
"Sleep well, my angel," I whispered, brushing a kiss on the crown of his head, before lowering him down onto his bassinet. Carefully, I pried my hair out of his grasp, before tucking his soft, fuzzy blanket around him.
