could you do some conrad angst? or the aftermath of the angsty part? just maybe conrad’s been working so much and his baby doesn’t recognize him and he’s upset over it
you’re in the living room when you hear the front door open. it’s late. like late late. conrad’s been pulling back-to-back shifts for weeks, and the house has basically started eating dinner without him at this point.
your daughter is on the floor, playing with her stuffed animals. she hears the door, pauses, blinks… but doesn’t react. doesn’t crawl toward it. doesn’t squeal. nothing.
you feel your stomach sink.
conrad steps inside slow, tired in that quiet way that makes your chest hurt. hair messy, eyes soft but exhausted, bag slung on one shoulder like he barely has the strength to hold it up.
and his whole face lights up for a second.
“hey,” he whispers, voice cracking just a little, “there’s my girl.”
he kneels down, opening his arms.
but she just stares. wide-eyed. confused. almost like she’s trying to figure out if she knows him.
your heart breaks before his does.
“sweetheart,” you say gently, nudging her a little. “dada’s home.”
she leans into you instead.
and conrad’s smile slips, only for a second, but you catch it. that tiny flicker of hurt.
he covers it fast, swallowing hard, forcing a soft smile. “that’s okay,” he says, still holding his arms out. “long week, huh? you forgot my face?”
she hides her face in your shirt.
and that’s when it happens.
his shoulders fall. like he’s been holding up a whole world and someone finally let him stop pretending. he sits back on his heels, hands dropping into his lap, eyes shining just a little in the warm living room light.
he’s not crying. but he’s close. you can tell by the way he blinks too slow.
you move toward him, half bending so she can see his face better. “baby,” you whisper gently to her, “look… that’s dada. you love dada.”
conrad shakes his head softly. “don’t force it. it’s fine.” he tries to laugh but it comes out thin. “guess i’m just… the guy who lives here now.”
“conrad,” you breathe, sitting next to him.
he rubs the back of his neck. “i’m gone too much. she doesn’t remember me. that’s on me.”
“it’s not,” you say. “you’re working for us.”
he looks at his hands, voice quiet. “doesn’t matter if she looks at me like i’m a stranger.”
you shift the baby so she’s facing him. she stares at him again. this time longer. her eyes squint a little. then she reaches out and pats his knee.
you whisper, “see? she knows.”
he smiles, barely. “yeah?”
you nod. “she just needs a sec.”
conrad lifts his hand, moving slow like he’s scared to spook her. he holds out one finger.
like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
and conrad exhales so hard his shoulders drop. he closes his eyes for a second, letting the tiny victory wash over him.
“hi,” he whispers, voice shaking just a little. “hey, sweetheart. it’s me. it’s dada.”
as if she recognizes the sound, she leans forward and rests her forehead on his hand.
conrad pulls in a breath like someone just handed him air after weeks underwater.
soft. grateful. emotional in that locked-down conrad way.
you scoot closer, leaning your head on his shoulder as the baby keeps holding his finger like it’s glued there.
“con,” you say quietly, “she never stopped loving you. she just missed you. that’s all.”
he nods, eyes on his daughter like he’s memorizing her. “i missed her more.”
he stays like that for the longest time. tired scrubs, exhausted eyes, and the tiniest hand holding his like it’s the only thing she’s ever known.
and slowly, gently, she lifts her arms.
he swallows. moves forward. picks her up with the softest care you’ve ever seen.
she tucks immediately into his chest.
and conrad lets out a breath that sounds like relief, love, and heartbreak stitched together.
“okay,” he whispers into her hair. “okay. i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere.”
