The very first sound Ashton Vale ever made wasn't a cry.
It was a hum.
A small, wobbly, innocent little hum that barely escaped his newborn throat — something between a sigh and a lullaby. The delivery nurses blinked. The doctor blinked. Then Ash blinked too, eyes so wide they looked like they could drink the whole world in.
And when his mother, Selene Vale, gathered him into her arms, she whispered, "He sings."
"He hums," corrected Elias Vale, beaming like a man who'd just been handed the entire universe in a receiving blanket.
"No," Selene whispered, brushing her thumb across Ash's ridiculously soft cheek, "He sings."
They named him Ashton because it sounded warm, like embers on a quiet night. Elias had laughed when Selene said that. "Ashes are cold," he teased.
But Selene had shaken her head. "Not our Ash. He'll be soft fire. Quiet fire. The kind that warms the whole room."
And somehow, even swaddled and blinking sleepily at the world, Ash had smiled — like he knew.
💫 One Week Old Ash didn't cry much. Not unless it was serious. He had preferences, yes. He liked being held upright more than cradled. He liked when music was playing — soft classical, or any time his mom hummed. He liked when his older sister, Lyra, read to him using different voices for each character.
(He didn't understand a word, but the energy was delightful.) "Once upon a time," she announced dramatically, "there lived a soup pot who wanted to become a prince!"
Ash burbled and waved one tiny hand like, Go on.
Lyra, seventeen years old and headstrong in every direction, had once declared she didn't like babies.
She was now lying on her stomach, nose to nose with Ash, whispering, "If anyone ever makes you sad, I'll destroy them."
His big brother, Rowan, was a bit more chill. Twenty years old, in his final university year, charming and composed — he pretended not to be obsessed. But somehow, every time he came home, there was a new toy, or a fresh book, or a new lullaby he'd "accidentally" learned to play on the piano.
He called Ash "Tiny Chief."
"How's the empire today, Chief?" Rowan would ask, tipping his head as if taking orders.
Ash would blink once.
Rowan: "Understood. The bath ducks are being promoted. Effective immediately."
🍼 Two Months Old Selene never moved the crib. She wouldn't.
Even though Ash mostly slept curled up on her chest. Even though she whispered "He's safest here" and Elias never argued.
Elias — tall, calm, scientist-extraordinaire Elias — would rock the baby carrier with one foot while typing one-handed research updates to major medical companies. Half his emails now ended in:
Apologies for the typos — baby drooled on the keyboard again.
He didn't mind. Ash drooled like a champion.
"Look at him," Elias whispered one evening, standing over the crib while Ash dozed, fists curled on either side of his head. "That's not a face capable of evil."
Selene, who was filming the moment for her 300th baby photo video, replied, "Obviously not. He's going to be a cinnamon roll."
Elias smiled. "A what?"
Selene grinned. "You know. Sweet on the outside. Sweeter on the inside. Soft. Undeniably good. A cinnamon roll."
Elias chuckled. "So not like Lyra."
"I HEARD THAT!" came the shout from the hallway.
Ash giggled.
📷 Four Months Old Every member of the family had their own Ash-centered routine.
Rowan was in charge of morning stretch time (he played music, and Ash copied him).
Lyra taught him how to "pose" for selfies by saying, "Handsome mode: activated!"
Selene sang lullabies and nuzzled his hair so much Ash started humming them back.
Elias read him scientific papers aloud "just for language exposure" — but actually ended up cooing every second word.
Ash didn't speak yet. But he started pointing.
He pointed at photos. Lights. Clouds. Spoons. He especially liked pointing at anything soft.
Pillows, Lyra's sweaters, Rowan's face.
Every time he pointed, the family would cheer like he just discovered a new element.
"Oh wow! Look at that! It's a CLOUD, Ash!"
Ash, pointing at it like: Yes, fools, I know.
Selene would sometimes pause while rocking him and whisper, "You're going to do something special, aren't you?"
Ash would blink.
Then hum.
Five Months Old – A Perfect Evening There was no warning. No foreshadowing. No sadness.
Just laughter.
It was a cozy Thursday night. Rowan had come home early from university. Lyra had convinced the whole family to do a mini "family game night." Ash was curled up in a special beanbag — one designed with a built-in blanket and baby pillow.
They had just finished dinner. Ash had just finished chewing on a spoon and looking smug about it.
Selene placed a kiss on the top of his head.
"Best baby ever," she whispered.
Ash giggled and kicked his feet.
And that was the last night they'd be together — for a long, long time.
But there was no sadness in the moment.
No one cried.
They laughed. Hugged. Took one last photo together — Rowan holding Ash, Selene and Elias behind, Lyra grinning with bunny ears over Rowan's head.
Ash's first five months were full of love, joy, food, softness, and lullabies.
He wouldn't remember their faces.
But deep inside, something warm stayed.