His jaw tightened, his chest burning with a mix of outrage and something deeper—fear he didn’t want to name.
No one had permission to handle his child like that.
No one.
He stepped forward, ready to shut it down immediately.
But then—
Zion laughed.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t dramatic.
Just a soft, pure sound that filled the space in a way Marcus hadn’t heard in months.
The kind of laugh that didn’t belong to a child under strict routines and scheduled care.
The kind of laugh that came from comfort.
From safety.
From being held the right way.
Emily didn’t notice Marcus standing there.
She poured warm water gently over Zion’s tiny body, humming under her breath without thinking.
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