Before Me, There Was Her
Valentine's Day Special
Summary: He's trying his best for her, himself, and for them.
Valentine’s Day isn’t the same.
There will never be a February fourteenth quite like it used to be. Not where the smell of soft vanilla soaked into her skin like butter. And how it lingered on her side of the bed, creating almost a stain. Or the soft laughter of her voice woke him up in the early hours of the morning.
The way her hands felt on him was always warm and soft. Tyriq felt like he could just fall happily in her presence. How perfectly her eyes fit his, like Yin and Yang.
He made a home out of her.
Not the type that swears up and down their person is their home. No, but the type to build a home with all of her hardest work of art, and his presence. Tyriq made sure that everything that she adored and second-glanced at in antique shops and stores was in their home. He wanted everything perfect just for her; if she was happy, he was happy. That was them. Perfect and complete.
But there was one thing missing.
The field is endless with flowers, petals brushing against their legs as the wind moves through like it’s laughing with them. She laughs at something small—something that wouldn’t be funny to anyone else—and he looks at her like that sound alone is worth building a life around.
The wind carries their laughter farther than they realize. Tyriq spins Stephy once, clumsily on purpose, and she laughs, grabbing his jacket so she doesn’t fall.
“You did that on purpose,” she says, catching her breath.
“Absolutely,” he grins. “Can’t let my wife outshine me that easily.”
She rolls her eyes, smiling. “Too late. Been outshining you since day one.”
Tyriq steps closer, slipping his jacket over her shoulders. “Yeah, and look where it got you,” he says softly. “Married to a man who worships the ground you walk on.”
She looks up at him, pretending to think. “Worships, huh? That explains the chocolate and the flower field.”
“And the reservation you didn’t know about,” he adds, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “And the rest of your life being taken care of.”
They sit down among the flowers, knees touching. Stephy leans her head on his shoulder. “You know,” she says quietly, “I don’t need all this.”
“I know,” Tyriq replies without missing a beat. He kisses the top of her head. “That’s why I do it. You deserve to feel like a queen even when you don’t ask.”
Stephy’s fingers trace along Tyriq’s jaw, slow and thoughtful, feeling the familiar roughness of his carefully kept stubble. She watches his face while she does it, the way his eyes soften whenever she touches him. “But what do you want?” she asks quietly. “You’ve got me in every corner of your life. There’s gotta be something else.” Her tone is light, teasing almost, but there’s something underneath it—hopeful, searching.
Tyriq chuckles, leaning into her hand as it belongs there. “Something else?” he repeats, brows knitting as he thinks. He shrugs easily, honestly. “I got my wife. I got peace. I wake up grateful and go to sleep knowing I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” He presses a kiss into her palm. “I’m not really missing anything, Steph.”
She smiles, but it wobbles just a little. That’s what she loves about him—how complete he is in his certainty, how grounded. Her hand slips from his face, reaching instead for the small gift bag resting beside the basket. She hesitates for half a second, then holds it out to him. “Well,” she says, voice warm but a little tight, “Happy Valentine’s Day. Here’s my gift to you.”
Tyriq takes the bag from her, casually, distracted by the way the wind keeps tugging at the blanket. He opens it without ceremony, pushing aside the tissue paper and pulling out what’s inside. For a second, he doesn’t register it. It’s just fabric. Small. Then he unfolds it.
He goes still. Not frozen, not dramatic—just still. His eyes drop back to the onesie, reading the words once, then again. His jaw tightens slightly, like his brain is catching up slower than his hands. He doesn’t look at her yet.
Stephy watches him, heart pounding. She bites the inside of her lip, fingers twisting together in her lap. She tries to read his face, but he’s giving her nothing—no smile, no frown, just quiet. “Say something,” she almost says, but stops herself, waiting, letting him have the moment.
He exhales through his nose, slowly. “This real?” he asks, finally, voice low. Not shocked—steady, careful. He glances up at her then, searching her face like he needs confirmation from her eyes, not her words.
She nods, small and hesitant. “Yeah.” Her voice is soft. “I didn’t know how else to tell you.” Her shoulders lift just a little, bracing.
Tyriq looks back down at the onesie, thumbs rubbing the edge of the fabric. “Okay,” he says after a beat. Just that. Then he swallows. “Okay.” He sets it carefully on the blanket between them, like it’s fragile. His hand reaches for hers, grounding. “I’m not… scared,” he adds quietly. “Just processing.”
Then the wall finally cracks.
Tyriq lets out a sharp breath and pulls her in, sudden but gentle, arms wrapping tight around her like he’s afraid she might slip away. “Oh my god,” he says into her shoulder, the words muffled by the way he’s holding her. He laughs once, breathless, half-disbelieving. “You’re pregnant. We’re gonna be parents.”
His grip tightens for a second, not crushing, just full—protective already. He presses his face into her hair, shaking his head like he needs to reset reality. “That’s… wow,” he murmurs, softer now. “That’s really happening.”
“We’re gonna do everything, right. From what our moms say to do and the book manual—wait, is there one?”
Time was passing, and something Tyriq had once been sure of was quietly proven wrong. It had been believed that his wife could not look any more perfect than she already did.
A glow had settled over her, one that was difficult to explain. It wasn’t only the way her body was changing, or the softness that had begun to show—it was the sense that she was being built up from the inside out. Everything the baby was giving her seemed to add to her, not take away.
Her smiles were noticed first. They were wider, more genuine than before, unforced in a way they hadn’t been. Her laughter came easier, filling rooms without effort, as if something inside her had finally relaxed.
The OB-GYN waiting room was too small for so many swollen bellies and restless thoughts. Women shifted in stiff plastic chairs that dug into aching backs and hips. Feet swollen from months of carrying life slipped out of tight shoes. Hands rested protectively on round stomachs—some large and heavy, others barely showing, waiting to be confirmed.
Despite the discomfort, quiet conversations floated through the room. Strangers compared cravings, due dates, and sleepless nights as if they’d known each other for years. There was comfort in the shared experience.
Across the room, husbands and partners sat differently—knees bouncing, fingers tapping against the tile floor, eyes flicking toward the hallway each time the door opened. Boredom mixed with nerves.
Then a nurse called a name, and the room fell still.
“Withers?”
He stood up fast, almost knocking his knee on that little table with the old magazines. “Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand before she even tried to get up. She moved slowly, one hand under her belly, the other gripping his fingers. She was heavy by then. Tired. But she smiled at him like this was the day they’d been waiting for.
The way he walked half a step behind her, watching how she moved, ready in case she stumbled. He was always like that with her, even if he acted tough about everything else.
The room was cold. He remembers that clear as day. That paper on the table looked like it was loud when she climbed up. He joked about it—said,
“They could at least turn the heat on when they know the Queen is coming through.” She rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling.
That’s what sticks with him now. The smiling.
When the tech put that cold gel on her stomach, Stephy jumped and grabbed his wrist. “Boy, that’s freezing,” she said. He laughed. Told her she was dramatic. But he didn’t move his hand from hers.
Then the machine started humming. The screen lit up in black and white shapes he couldn’t understand.
He acted calm. Nodding like he saw something important. Truth was, he ain’t know what he was looking at. A blurry, colorless image with a little life on a screen.
Until he heard it.
That heartbeat.
Fast. Strong. Filling up the whole room.
Tyriq swears that was the first time it really hit him. Not just that he was having a baby, but that he was somebody’s father. He squeezed her hand without thinking. She squeezed back.
He remembers how they both went quiet when the tech got still, moving the wand more slowly. Zooming in. The little life sculpted so perfectly in their image. The true both went 50- 50 on it.
“You ready to know?” she asked.
Tyriq looked at Stephy. She looked at him. A small nod confirming.
The tech moved the wand lower, angling it carefully. The image shifted again. Legs. Small. Kicking like she had somewhere to be. Tyriq remembers squinting, trying hard to understand what he was looking at. He didn’t want to ask too many questions, didn’t want to look clueless. But he felt Stephy’s fingers tighten around his.
The tech smiled at the screen. “Okay… I can tell you now.”
He felt his chest thump once. Hard.
“It’s a girl.”
The words just sat there.
Tyriq looked back at the monitor first this time. Like maybe he’d see it clearer now. Like maybe it would look different knowing. And somehow it did. That small shape wasn’t just “the baby” anymore. It was his daughter. That tiny skull outline? His baby’s head. Those little kicks? His baby is moving.
Then he looked at Stephy.
She was already looking at him.
He remembers the shine in her eyes. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just full. Her lips parted a little like she was about to say something, but she didn’t. She just smiled. Slow. Real.
“A girl,” he repeated, almost under his breath.
Stephy nodded. “A girl.”
A daughter.
And when he looked at Stephy again, the way she was looking at that screen—like it held the whole world—he didn’t know yet how much that memory would mean to him later.
He just knew, in that moment, they were happy.
And it was enough.
After that appointment, everything started moving fast.
Tyriq remembers that time like it was loud. Not just noise, but life. Plans. People. Opinions.
There were baby showers—more than one. One from Stephy’s side, one his auntie insisted on throwing, and another small one her coworkers put together. Pink everywhere. Gift bags are piling up in corners. Tissue paper on the floor. Little dresses so small they didn’t make sense. He remembers holding up a pair of tiny socks and just staring at them. Like, how could feet even be that small?
Everybody had advice. How to hold her. How to burp her. What brand of diapers to buy? What not to do. Tyriq nodded through most of it, half listening, half calculating in his head how much everything was going to cost.
Because while all that softness was happening, real life was too.
He was in and out of the house a lot. Tyriq was already in the middle of filming. Long days on set. Early call times. Wardrobe fittings. Script rewrites. Interviews lined up because this wasn’t a one-hit wonder. His name was moving around heavily, and everybody kept telling him this was “the moment.”
He wanted to be present. Wanted to rub her feet, build the crib, and fold the baby clothes the right way. And he did—when he could.
But there were nights he came home, and she was already asleep on her side, one hand under her belly, the TV still glowing in the dark.
He carried guilt he didn’t talk about. Feeling like he wasn’t there enough. Feeling like he had to be out there more because now it wasn’t just about him.
Stephy spent more time at home toward the end. The last few weeks weighed on her.
Physically and mentally.
The excitement was still there, but so was the waiting. The swelling. The heat in her ankles. The way sleep came in pieces. She’d sit on the couch, folding baby clothes over and over, reorganizing drawers that were already organized. Trying to make the time move.
Her mom called constantly.
Morning check-ins. Afternoon check-ins. Late-night “just making sure.” Asking about contractions. Asking about doctor visits. Asking if the baby was moving. Asking if she drank enough water. Asking if she felt dizzy.
It came from love, but it was a lot.
Stephy would put the phone on speaker sometimes and just stare at Tyriq like, Save me.
Other times, she’d answer every question patiently, even when her voice sounded tired.
Everybody hovering. Everybody waiting.
The house slowly filled up with baby things. A crib pressed against the wall. Boxes stacked near the door. A car seat sitting in the living room like a quiet reminder that time was almost up.
Tyriq remembers those weeks feeling stretched. Like they were on the edge of something big, standing still but also moving too fast.
They were excited. They were stressed. They were figuring it out in real time.
Just two people about to become parents, trying to balance dreams, expectations, family, and each other—without really knowing how much was about to change.
Blue drapes up. Hair tucked away. IV in her arm. She looked smaller laid back like that, but still beautiful. Still her.
He walked straight to her head as they instructed, but he barely heard them. His ears were ringing. His palms were sweating inside the thin hospital gloves.
“You okay?” he asked, leaning close so only she could hear him.
She looked at him and smiled. Not big. Not dramatic. Just soft.
“I’m okay,” she said. “You nervous?”
He let out a shaky breath. “Nah,” he lied, then shook his head. “Yeah. A little.”
Her fingers moved in his, squeezing. Even laid out like that, about to be cut open, she was the one grounding him. “You’re gonna do great,” he told her quietly, brushing a loose strand of hair back even though it was already tucked away. “You hear me? You built for this.”
She studied his face like she could see through the mask, through the act. “You look scared,” she whispered.
“I’m not scared,” he said, voice lower now. Honest. “I just… I need you to be good. That’s it.”
Her eyes softened. “Tyriq,” she said gently, “look at me.”
He did.
“You’re about to meet your daughter,” she said. “Stop looking like you in a horror movie.” He huffed out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. The tension cracked just a little.
“You look so perfect right now,” he told her, and he meant it. Even with the hospital gown. Even with the wires and tape. “I don’t even know how.”
She rolled her eyes slightly. “Boy, stop.”
“I’m serious.”
The machines kept beeping steadily. Doctors spoke in low, controlled tones on the other side of the curtain. He could feel the anxiety creeping up his spine, settling in his throat. His mind kept racing ahead—what if something goes wrong?
He shut it down.
He leaned his forehead close to hers, careful of the wires.
“I love you,” he said, firm. Like he needed her to hear it clearly in case the room swallowed everything else.
“I love you more,” she replied.
Then an agitated voice sliced through the sterile air.
“Tyriq! Tyriq!”
He closed his eyes for half a second. Of course.
“Yes, Wanda?” he answered, trying to keep his voice steady.
“I can’t see. Come on! What am I looking at? The ceiling? Fix the phone!”
Across the room, Stephy’s phone was propped up against a metal container, angled wrong. All it showed was bright surgical lights and a sliver of blue curtain.
On the screen, Wanda sat planted on her couch back home, lamp glowing behind her, a half-filled wine glass in her hand. Glasses low on her nose. Face too close to her own camera.
“Turn it toward her! I need to see my baby,” she demanded.
Tyriq glanced at Stephy. She gave him a look that said, Go ahead.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispered to her, reluctant to let go of her hand.
He crossed the cold floor quickly, heart still racing, and adjusted the phone so it framed Stephy’s face instead of the overhead lights.
“There,” he said. “You see her now?”
Wanda leaned forward on the screen. “Okay. Okay, I see her. Stephy! Baby, I’m right here.”
Stephy managed a small smile. “Hi, Ma.”
“You doing okay? Are they treating you right? Tyriq, you better not be over there passing out.”
“I’m good,” he muttered, already stepping back to his place beside Stephy.
Behind the curtain, the doctors were speaking in focused tones. Metal instruments clinked softly. The monitor kept its steady rhythm.
Wanda kept talking, half prayer, half commentary. “Lord, cover my child… Tyriq, tilt it a little more. I need to see her face.”
He ignored that last part.
He slid his hand back into Stephy’s, gripping it like it was the only solid thing in the room. His pulse was jumping. His mouth is dry. The bright lights felt hotter now.
“Almost there,” he murmured to her.
And in the background, from a living room miles away, Wanda kept watching. Wine glass in hand. Voice filling the operating room like she was right there with them.
Behind the curtain, there was movement—controlled but fast. Nurses stepping in and out of each other’s space like choreography. The beeping of the monitoris steady, then a little quicker. Tyriq tried to match his breathing to the rhythm.
In his head, he kept thinking, This is routine. They do this every day. This is normal.
But nothing about it felt normal.
“Dad, you’re doing great,” one of the nurses said to him.
He almost laughed at that. He wasn’t doing anything but standing there trying not to fall apart.
Then—
A sound.
The cry came sharp and sudden, cutting straight through the hum of machines.
For a split second, Tyriq didn’t understand what he was hearing. Then it hit him.
That’s her.
The doctor lifted her just high enough for him to see over the blue curtain. It wasn’t some perfect slow-motion moment like in movies. It was quick. Real. Messy. His daughter was tiny and covered in white streaks, fists tight, mouth wide open like she was already arguing with the world.
“That’s your baby girl,” a nurse said.
His knees almost gave out.
He didn’t cry right away. It was more like something cracked open inside his chest. A pressure he didn’t know he’d been holding spilled out in one shaky breath.
Stephy’s eyes were glossy, tired but glowing. “Let me see her.”
“They’re cleaning her up,” he said, brushing his thumb across her forehead. “She's loud, too. The whole hospital knows she's here.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
Across the room, under bright lights, their daughter kicked and protested while nurses worked fast. Tyriq hovered near the edge, torn in two. Every instinct pulled him toward that warmer. But Stephy’s hand was still in his.
“You did that, Steph,” he whispered. “Hear her? That’s us.”
Wanda’s voice came through the phone, loud and trembling. “Let me see her! Turn the phone!”
But Stephy wasn’t looking at him. Her chest rose and fell too fast. Her grip on his hand tightened, then trembled. “Steph?” he said, voice catching.
She tried to speak. Nothing came. A shallow, frantic inhale, lips pale, sweat beading along her hairline. Tyriq felt a chill run down his spine. One nurse pressed the oxygen mask to her face. Another glanced at the monitor, then moved faster, calling for help.
Tyriq leaned close. “Hey, look at me. Stay with me.” Her fingers twitched. That was it. A twitch, and then the rapid fluttering of her chest swallowed everything else.
The monitor beeped sharply now—too fast, too insistent.
Tyriq’s heart hammered. Their daughter’s cry softened on the warmer, oblivious, and Wanda’s frantic voice filled the background.
“Sir, I need you back,” a nurse said, but he couldn’t leave.
He just stood there, frozen, watching her fight for every breath.
For the life of another, it broke the other.
Time doesn’t stop, even when your whole world breaks. Tyriq remembers the funeral like it was yesterday—the sun heavy, people moving around as if nothing had changed, but everything had.
Flowers, prayers, condolences from people he barely knew, from people he didn’t want to know. He felt all of it, but none of it touched the hole Stephy left behind.
He remembers the casket, small and still, like she was just sleeping, but he knew better. Standing there in his suit, hands shaking, trying not to drop his baby girl. That part hurt more than anything—holding the one piece of her he could still touch, knowing she’d never touch her mom.
Family didn’t leave him alone—not that he could’ve handled it anyway.
His mom stayed, soft hands brushing over his back, murmuring words he barely heard. Wanda was there too, hovering, crying, making sure he and Tia were fed, clothed, breathing.
He remembers staring at the floor a lot, thinking, this isn’t how it was supposed to go.
Tia Monique Withers.
Stephy’s middle name fits perfectly for their baby girl.
He whispered it to her first, the tiny baby wrapped in a blanket, her little eyes blinking up at him. Her name was a piece of Stephy he could hold onto, but it didn’t fix the rest.
Every day after that was a grind through grief. Waking up and remembering she wasn’t there. Hearing Tia cry and remembering Stephy never would again. The nights were the worst—quiet, heavy, like the air itself pressed down on him.
He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t breathe right, just kept going because Tia needed him, even when he felt empty inside.
He remembers the weight of her absence in the little things—the sound of movement in the apartment, the smell of coffee she loved, the silence where she should’ve been laughing, cooking, moving through the space.
That memory, the funeral, the first week home with Tia, the endless condolences, the helpless crying—he carries all of it. Every day, it’s still with him, like a shadow he can’t shake. Like a reminder that life went on, but it went on without her.
Everything felt like it had crashed down on him.
Tyriq’s life is different now—every day is just him and Tia, figuring it out as they go.
He gives her everything—time, attention, love—trying to make up for the part of her life Stephy should’ve been in. He watches her, listens to her laugh, sees Stephy in the little things: the tilt of her head, the curl of her lip, the stubborn streak she’s inherited.
Tyriq went to therapy, focused on adjusting himself. Making sure he was everything Tia needed, not just as a father but a protector. Connecting with fathers who were in the same boat as him. Venting to support groups. He made sure he was at least 50% himself while the other half was gone. He knew he’d never get that part of him back, but it was enough to be a guide for Tia in this world.
Tyriq sat on the edge of the bed, Tia perched in front of him, curls puffing out like they had a life of their own. He grabbed a hair tie, eyeing the wild afro like he was staring down a hurricane.
“Daddy, it’s too puffy!” she complained, folding her arms. “Aunt Tilly does it better. She has the stuff. I need the stuff!”
“I know, baby,” Tyriq said, tugging gently at a stubborn curl. “But we ain’t got time for all that today. School’s in thirty minutes. We gotta keep it real.”
Tia groaned. “Thirty minutes?! That’s forever for hair! You’re doing it wrong!”
He laughed, spinning her curls between his fingers. “Alright… maybe we just shave it all off. Buzz cut, like Daddy. Boom—done.”
Tia’s eyes went wide. “NO! NO! NO! Daddy, I don’t want that! I’m not doing that! Never! Ew!” She jumped off his lap, spinning around, tiny hands flying through her hair in horror.
He chuckled, holding up his hands as he surrendered. “Okay, okay! Calm down, princess. No buzz cuts today. We’re doing a bun. Puffy? Yeah. Messy? Maybe.”
She watched him, arms crossed, lips pouting. Finally, she shrugged. “Fine. But tomorrow, we’re using products. Aunt Tilly’s bringing the good stuff.”
He ruffled her hair, smiling. “Bet. But for now? You’re still the cutest girl walking into school, buzz cut-free.”
Tia giggled, grabbing her backpack. “Okay… fine. But I’m telling Aunt Tilly about the buzz cut joke!”
“Do what you gotta do, baby girl,”
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t always calm. But she was happy. He was happy. That was enough. That was everything. He learned to breathe in the chaos, to find the small victories, the little moments that reminded him life wasn’t over, even if it would never be the same.
This was home. This was love. This was all he had—and all he needed.
The front door slammed open so hard the frame rattled, and Tia came barreling through like a tiny storm, curls bouncing with every step. Her little backpack swung wildly against her back, and she kicked off her shoes mid-run, one flying across the floor and nearly hitting the couch.
“Daddy! DADDY!” she yelled, her voice carrying every bit of the excitement she’d been holding in since school let out.
Tyriq peeked around the kitchen counter, a bag of groceries in one hand, a pot still steaming on the stove. “Whoa! Whoa, slow down, princess!” he yelled back, laughing as he dodged her backpack.
“I got somethin’ for you! Look! Look! DADDY, LOOK!” she shrieked again, throwing herself toward him and nearly toppling over the counter in her hurry. She practically shoved a canvas into his chest, her small hands sticky with paint.
Tyriq set the groceries down, steadying her and the canvas. His chest tightened immediately. The canvas was covered in smudges of red and pink, little kiss marks pressed into the paper like tiny promises, and in the center, big, wobbly letters spelled: Kisses for Daddy.
Her smile was so big it went from ear to ear.
In the corner was a tiny drawing—three stick figures, simple but full of life. A woman, a man, and a little girl. Tyriq’s breath caught in his chest, and he bent closer to get a better look.
“Who’s this?” he asked softly, his voice low, careful, like he was afraid the wrong tone might break something fragile.
Tia’s eyes sparkled, and her curls brushed against his cheek as she leaned forward, practically vibrating with pride. “That’s us! That’s Daddy, Mommy, and me!”
Tyriq swallowed, his throat tight. He felt the weight of every moment—every sleepless night, every tantrum, every school morning, every moment he’d worried he wasn’t doing enough for her, every little laugh and hug that made it all worthwhile.
He bent down slowly and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, holding her close for just a moment longer than necessary.
“You drew Mommy in there?” he whispered, feeling the heat of emotion behind his words, letting the warmth of her tiny body settle against him.
“Yeah! I miss her,” she said, shrugging as if it were normal. “But I still love you the most, Daddy.”
Tyriq laughed softly, a sound that carried relief, love, and a little awe all at once. “I love you too, baby girl. The most. Always the most.” He rested his forehead against hers, letting the smell of her hair, the faint tang of paint on her hands, and the sound of her excited breaths anchor him.
“And you know Mommy does too,” Tia said, her little voice serious now, curls brushing against his chest. “Even if she’s not here, she still loves me.”
Tyriq’s throat tightened, and he held her a little closer. “That’s right, baby girl. She’s always here, you just can’t see her. But she sees you—every laugh, every twirl, every little thing you do. She’s with us, always.”
Tia’s eyes widened a little, thinking it over, and then she smiled softly, resting her head against his shoulder. “So… she’s watching us?”
“Every day,” he whispered, brushing his fingers through her curls. “Even when you can’t feel it, even when you can’t touch it… She’s right here. And she’s proud of you, just like I am.”
Tia hugged him tight, letting the warmth settle around them both. “I miss her, but I like knowing that.”
Tyriq kissed the top of her head. “Yeah… me too, baby girl. Me too. And she’s part of every single moment we have. Always.”
And in that moment, he felt everything that fatherhood meant—the chaos, the responsibility, the constant worry, and the infinite love. He thought about all the little ways he’d had to grow, all the patience he’d had to find, and all the lessons Tia was teaching him without even knowing it.
He held the canvas a little closer, tracing the stick figures gently. “This… this is perfect, baby girl,” he murmured. “You, me, and Mommy in your heart. That’s all I need. That’s everything I need.”
Tia grinned, still bouncing with energy, curls brushing his cheek. “Can we do kisses all over the house, too?”
Tyriq chuckled, ruffling her curls. “Yeah… yeah, we can. But only if you promise to help me clean them up too.”
She squealed and nodded furiously, curls bouncing with each nod. Tyriq leaned back slightly, just watching her, and let himself soak it in—the love, the chaos, the mess, the warmth. In all the noise and commotion, he felt something steady: that this was home, that this was life, that this was fatherhood in its purest form.
Tyriq set the canvas down on the counter for a second and reached for a small bouquet of flowers, bright yellows, purples, and pinks. “Here, princess,” he said, holding them out. “For you.”
Tia’s eyes went wide, her little hands shooting out to grab them. “For me? For real?” She turned them this way and that, sniffing the petals, brushing one gently over her cheek. “Ooooh, Daddy, these are pretty!”
He smiled, trying not to laugh at the way she carefully examined them like they were fragile treasures. “Yep. Pretty flowers for my pretty girl.”
“Wait!” she squeaked, hopping a little in excitement. Tyriq glanced down as he picked up a small stuffed pink teddy bear from the counter. “And this one’s all yours. I know how much you like pink.”
Tia’s face lit up immediately. Her little hands clutched the bear, hugging it tight to her chest, squeezing its soft arms like she’d been waiting for it all day. “Pink! He’s perfect! My favorite color!” She spun around once, then ran over to the counter to put the flowers in a small vase, careful not to knock it over.
Tyriq leaned against the counter, watching her, shaking his head with a small laugh. “Yeah… nothing beats pink for my princess.”
Tia spun around one last time, hugging her pink bear tight, and then darted toward her room, curls bouncing as she laughed. “I’m gonna show Teddy my bed! Bye, Daddy!”
“Alright, alright! Dinner’s ready in ten minutes!” Tyriq called after her, his voice carrying down the hallway.
He leaned against the counter for a moment, letting the quiet settle back into the kitchen.
The groceries were stacked to one side, the sink half-full from lunch, the smell of a faintly simmering sauce hanging in the air. He glanced at the fridge.
Pinned to the door were Tia’s tiny ultrasound pictures, the first little glimpses of her that Stephy had held so close.
Next to them, their wedding photos—Stephy in her white dress, Tyriq in his suit, both of them smiling like the world was theirs.
Tyriq reached over and carefully added Tia’s Valentine’s Day artwork to the fridge, smoothing it out so it sat right in the middle, kisses for Daddy and all. He stepped back, hands in his pockets, and just looked at it all for a minute—the tiny girl they had made, the life they’d built, and the little reminders of the woman they both loved.
He shook his head softly, a small smile tugging at his lips, and whispered under his breath, “Yeah… we’re good. We’re really good.”
The apartment was quiet now. Bath time done. Teeth brushed. Pajamas on. Tia’s curls tucked carefully into her pink silk bonnet after a small debate about whether it was “too tight.” Now they were both crammed into her toddler bed.
Tyriq’s legs hung halfway off the edge, knees bent up awkward, one foot barely touching the floor. His shoulder pressed against the wall. Tia, meanwhile, was stretched out comfortably like she owned the place, wedding album open across both their laps.
“Daddy,” she said immediately, before he even turned the page. “Who was at the wedding?”
He smiled, adjusting the book so she could see better. “Everybody. Your grandma Wanda was there. My mom. Aunt Tilly. All the cousins. Even people you don’t even know.”
Tia gasped like this was the biggest event in history. “All them people came just for you and Mommy?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “It was a big day.”
She leaned closer to the picture of Stephy walking down the aisle. “Did you think Mommy was pretty?” Tyriq looked at the photo for a long second. Stephy in white, smiling that smile that used to calm him down and hype him up at the same time.
“Pretty?” he said softly. “Nah. She was… unreal. I ain’t even breathe right when I saw her.”
Tia’s eyes widened. “You stopped breathing?”
“For a second,” he laughed. “Thought I was gonna pass out up there.”
“You so silly daddy.”She giggled, then flipped the page too fast.
“Did you know I was in Mommy’s belly yet?” Tia asks again, flipping back to the wedding picture like she’s trying to line up the timeline in her head.
Tyriq runs his thumb along the edge of the page. “Nah. We ain’t know yet. You was already there… just small. Quiet. Hiding.” She nods slowly, taking that in. The questions slow down after that. Her voice isn’t as sharp, not as fast. The energy that had her bouncing earlier is fading.
She rubs one eye with the back of her hand. “Daddy…” she murmurs, blinking heavy. “I’m tired.”
“I can tell,” he says softly.
“I wanna put the book down.”
“Alright.”
He carefully closes the wedding album, making sure the page corners don’t bend, and sits up in the too-small bed. His back cracks a little when he straightens. He reaches over and places the book on her nightstand, right next to the nightlight that throws that soft pink glow across the room.
For a second, his hand lingers on the cover before he pulls it away.
When he lays back down, he has to readjust, shifting sideways so he can fit. The mattress dips under his weight. Tia rolls toward him automatically, like she’s done it a thousand times.
Her silk bonnet brushes against his chin. He can feel the steady warmth of her little body through her pajamas. One of her hands curls into the fabric of his T-shirt, holding on without even thinking about it.
The room is quiet except for the hum of the fan and the faint sounds from outside drifting in through the window.
Her breathing starts to slow.
He feels it.
That shift from awake to almost gone.
Her eyelids flutter once. Twice. She fights it a little, trying to stay up just because he’s there. Her fingers flex against his chest.
“Daddy…” she whispers, voice thick now.
“Yeah, baby?”
Her eyes are closed when she asks it. “Do I look like my mommy?”
The question comes softer this time. Not curious. Not excited. Just sleepy and honest.
Tyriq looks down at her.
The bonnet’s slightly crooked. A little curl has escaped near her ear. Her cheeks are full and relaxed. Her lashes resting against her skin. In the dim light, he can see it—the shape of Stephy in her. The softness. The strength. The familiar curve of her mouth.
He exhales slowly.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low so it doesn’t disturb the quiet. “You do.”
She shifts slightly, eyes still closed. “Like… for real?”
“For real,” he murmurs. “Sometimes when you smile, it’s like I’m lookin’ right at her.”
A tiny smile forms on Tia’s lips, even half-asleep. Her breathing gets deeper. Slower. He can feel her chest rising and falling against his ribs. Her grip on his shirt loosens just a little. “She pretty?” she asks, barely audible.
“Yeah,” he answers. “She was.”
A pause.
“You pretty too,” he adds gently.
That’s the last thing she hears before sleep fully takes her.
Her body goes heavy in that way kids do when they’re completely out. One leg thrown across his. Bonnet slipping just a little more. Mouth slightly open.
Tyriq stays still.
He doesn’t move even though his arm is starting to tingle again.
He just lays there, staring at the ceiling, feeling her weight on him. Feeling how small she still is. How much she’s grown. How much of Stephy lives in her without even trying.
It’s bittersweet in a quiet way. Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just this steady ache and warmth existing at the same time.
He presses a soft kiss against the top of her bonnet.
“One kiss for daddy, and one kiss for mommy.”
Notes: You know...it takes a lot to go from writing smut to then turn around and write angst. I rewatched Fatherhood and got an idea. If some of y'all can spot the references. Looking back idk if this is a Valentine's Day read, ermm, my bad. In the moment, it was...but girl, dad's for the win. Hugs and kisses, but also I'm sorry.
tags: @mamasturn @ga33y3 @dbstr @ichiban94 @real-lebanese @5starsativa @yourleogf @ariidadonn @darkseidex @sexymeanbtch @bigbootymalo @bbluemuffinnn @mooki3-bear