Tomas pushed the door open, the cool night air clinging to his clothes as he stepped inside. His legs ached, every muscle in his body screaming from the long hours he had put in, but he walked quickly. From the moment he entered the hallway, he could hear it—his son's cries, sharp and desperate.
His heart clenched as he hurried to his room. Inside, his one-year-old son lay in the crib, wailing with tiny fists clenched, his face red and tear-streaked. Tomas quickly scooped the boy up into his arms, whispering gentle words. "It's okay, little one. Daddy's here."
The baby's sobs softened into pitiful whimpers, his tiny body trembling as Tomas cradled him close. He quickly changed the soiled diaper, his fingers moving with practiced precision despite the exhaustion weighing him down. But as soon as he finished, his son began chomping on his shoulder, his tiny mouth working hungrily.