While the world outside keeps spinning—fast, loud, sometimes unkind—inside this little room, there is only peace. There’s a toddler sprawled across my chest, his tiny hand clutching the fabric of my shirt like I’m the anchor keeping his dreams in place. His breath is slow and soft, his cheek pressed gently against mine. And though the day carries on around us, I’m frozen in this moment. Willingly. Gratefully.

Outside, Dad is chasing something else—something I used to chase, too. The thrill of being wanted, the rush of affection from people who never really saw the whole of us. He’s looking for love in people who will never love him like we do. And maybe one day he’ll understand. But right now, we’re here.

Not in a nightclub, not on a spontaneous beach getaway, not crafting some perfect version of life for social media. We’re under a blanket that smells like baby lotion and leftover waffles. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the fan and the occasional giggle escaping from a half-asleep dream.

And I realize something I wish I’d known years ago: This is what it feels like to be loved without condition.

I don’t have wild nights anymore. My weekends don’t start at 9 p.m.—they end by 8. I haven’t danced in heels for years, and the only “surprises” I get are diaper blowouts or crayon murals on the hallway walls. But I do have this.

I have the soft weight of a child who trusts me completely. I have the magic of midday naps where the world disappears and all that matters is the warmth between two beating hearts. I have the chance to be someone’s safe haven—not just anyone’s, his.

There’s no spotlight here. No big applause. Just slow afternoons, sticky kisses, and sleepy “I love you” mumbles that undo me every time. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade this for all the fleeting attention in the world.

Because I’m not chasing temporary love anymore. I’m building the kind that lasts—the kind that grows in blanket forts and lullabies, in quiet reassurance, in gentle touches when the tears come out of nowhere.

So while Dad is out searching, we’re here napping like pros, wrapped in a kind of love that doesn’t need validation or performance. Just presence. Just heart.

And when I look at you—when I feel your breath rise and fall against mine—I know this isn’t just enough.

This is everything.

Sweet dreams, little buddy.

We’ve already won.