The morning sun filtered in through the cream curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. The warmth of it reached Daniel's back as he leaned over the crib. Mira was still asleep, one tiny hand curled into a fist beside her head, the other resting on her chest.
Daniel looked at her, heart swelling. He could watch her breathe for hours and still not get over how small, how real, how theirs she was.
Behind him, Ira stirred. She sat up slowly, her body aching from the long night. Mira had woken up thrice, and although Daniel had helped, Ira insisted on feeding her herself — it was a quiet bond she wasn't ready to give up yet.
Daniel turned around. "She's still asleep. You could've stayed in bed a bit longer."
"I wanted to see her face," Ira whispered, smiling. "Also, my boobs hurt."
Daniel chuckled and came to sit beside her. "The sacrifices of motherhood," he teased, wrapping an arm gently around her shoulder.
There was a moment of silence between them — not empty, but full. They watched the morning settle around them. The hum of the fan, the muffled city noise beyond their apartment, the soft cooing Mira made in her dreams.
Then, Daniel cleared his throat.
"We still haven't named her."
Ira looked at him, mock surprise on her face. "You mean Hey You isn't acceptable for school admissions?"
Daniel laughed. "We need something that sounds good on a degree certificate and still cute when I'm calling her home for dinner."
Ira leaned her head against his shoulder. "I've been thinking of something... Mira."
He paused.
"Mira Raymond," he said softly, rolling the name in his mouth. "It sounds like her."
"It means ocean," Ira said. "Calm, deep, and full of mysteries."
Daniel looked at their daughter again. "She is all that. And more."
---
As days passed, Ira's recovery became a quiet journey of learning to be gentle with herself. Her body had changed — in ways that weren't just visible in the mirror. There were nights she cried, unsure if she was healing "fast enough." There were days she felt heavy, not just in flesh but in self-worth.
She'd stare at the mirror, sometimes poking at her soft belly, sometimes tugging at her maternity jeans that still didn't fit right. One afternoon, she caught herself trying to hide behind the kitchen counter when Daniel walked in.
He noticed.
"Are you avoiding me?"
She laughed nervously. "Don't be silly."
He walked up to her slowly and cupped her face in his hands.
"Ira. I know it's hard to love yourself right now, but I do. Every part. Every curve, every mark, everything that helped bring Mira into this world."
Tears sprang to her eyes.
"I'm not the same."
"No," he said, his voice soft and steady. "You're more. You're stronger. You're a mother. You're still the woman I fell in love with... only now, I have even more reasons to fall deeper."
She smiled through her tears, burying her face into his chest.
"God, how are you always this sweet?"
"I'm just scared of our daughter someday inheriting your glare."
She laughed and smacked his chest. "She should. Someone needs to keep you in check."
---
Weeks passed.
Between Mira's diaper explosions, baby talk, 3 a.m. lullabies, and impromptu dancing in the living room to calm her down, intimacy had been quietly packed away — like a favorite sweater during summer.
Until one night.
Mira was finally asleep for longer than two hours. Ira had just finished nursing, her hair loosely tied back, her cheeks still rounder than before, her belly soft under her nightgown.
Daniel stood at the doorway, watching her rock Mira gently.
She turned. "You okay?"
"I don't think I've ever seen anyone more beautiful," he whispered.
Her heart thudded, but she laughed. "I'm sweaty, leaking milk, and wearing the same nightgown for two days."
"Exactly."
She put Mira down and stepped toward him. There was hesitance in the air. A nervousness that felt both new and familiar.
He kissed her forehead. "Only if you want to."
She looked at him. "I think I do."
Their hands brushed. Then held.
They moved slowly, shy like they had never touched before. Rediscovering. Cherishing. They kissed — not with urgency, but with emotion. With gratitude. With all the love that had grown between late-night feedings and diaper changes.
It wasn't perfect. There was laughter. Some clumsiness. But it was real.
Afterwards, they lay in bed, her head on his chest.
"Did you miss this?" she asked sleepily.
"Missed you," he replied.
"Think Mira will sleep long enough for a round two?"
Daniel laughed. "Let's not jinx it."
She chuckled, then looked up. "You still think I'm beautiful?"
He didn't even blink. "Now more than ever."
She smiled, cheeks glowing. Then whispered, "Let's name the next one Ayaan if it's a boy."
Daniel's eyes widened. "You're planning already?"
"Just saying. If we ever want Mira to have company..."
He pulled her closer. "Let's let my heart recover first."
They lay in silence, wrapped in sheets and laughter, as their daughter slept in the crib beside them — unaware of the love that surrounded her.