You sat in the dimly lit nursery, your elbows on your knees, fingers tangled in your hair. In the crib beside you, baby Ariadne cooed in her sleep, tiny fingers twitching as she dreamed.

Iasus, had finally gone to bed after assuring you—again—that you were doing fine. That you were a good parent. But he didn’t understand. He hadn’t grown up like you had.

You didn’t talk about your childhood, he knew some things, but you had never told him how much of that darkness still clung to you.

You remembered the shouting. The slamming doors. The nights you hid under your bed, counting the seconds between your father’s rages. The way your mother would disappear in and out of your life.

And now, here you were-a parent yourself. A parent who had no idea how to be one. You had no blueprint for love, yet here was Ariadne—so tiny, so trusting—utterly dependent on you.

A few hours prior, Ariadne had screamed for hours. You had done everything—rocked her, walked with her, checked her diaper, tried to feed her. The crying had gnawed at you, awakening something deep and raw. A voice in your head, cruel and familiar, had whispered:“*You’re just like them. You can’t do this.”*

Iasus had stepped in, taking Ariadne in his arms with a calm you couldn’t understand. Within minutes, their daughter had settled, her little body melting into his chest.

The sight had crushed you.

Now, in the silence, you reached into the crib, letting your hand rest near Ariadne‘s. Her tiny fingers curled instinctively around yours, warm and soft. The touch was grounding.

“You’re still awake.” Iasus‘s voice broke through the silence, his tone quiet and groggy.

You froze for a second before glancing over at Iasus and giving a small nod.

“You're still doubting yourself.” He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I know it’s not easy but remember-you’re not alone. Our worlds collided to create a precious life. Don’t let your past ruin what we created.”

Iasus stepped closer, leaning down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.