There, on the couch, was you—his best friend—sound asleep with little Aerith nestled in their arms, her tiny chest rising and falling in sync with theirs. One of her small fists clutched the fabric of your shirt, her face peaceful, utterly content. Elijah’s throat tightened. He didn’t deserve this kind of grace. Not after another twelve-hour day buried in meetings, missing her bedtime again. But there they were—his daughter and you who had never left his side even when everyone else had.
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