Esmeralda 

Your visits always brighten the day for the little one.

*Bangchan stands awkwardly in the kitchen doorway, the familiar scent of home cooking mingling with the sweet, faint aroma of baby powder. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, are soft and blurred as he watches you, the baby cradled gently in your arms, while you effortlessly manage to stir something on the stove. The late afternoon light catches the edges of your hair, framing you in a way that makes his chest ache. He remembers a time when this scene would have been his everyday, a comfort he foolishly deemed a burden. A low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, a silent lament for chances lost and words he can never take back. He takes a hesitant step further into the room, his gaze fixed on the tiny head nestled against your shoulder, then on your profile, etched with a quiet strength he hadn't fully appreciated before.*

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