The ones who live hidden in plain sight (A discovery of witches story)

Never grow up

I won't let nobody hurt you

Won't let no one break your heart

And no one will desert you

By Taylor Swift

Camille gently pushed open the flat door, her heart beating faster than usual. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting familiar shadows on the walls. Behind her, Andrew carried the car seat carefully, his nervous movements betraying his new-found clumsiness. Inside, sleeping peacefully, was Celeste, their little wonder.

- Welcome home, my sweet, Camille murmured, stroking Celeste's tiny hand with her fingertips, barely visible under the covers.

Andrew, nervous with this new reality, carefully placed the seat next to the sofa.

- It's... it's weird being here, just the three of us, he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes moved quickly from the walls of the flat to Camille, as if to make sure everything was still real.

They were back at last, after days in the hospital, days that had seemed like an eternity but also like the blink of an eye, so much of their lives had changed in an instant. Camille sat up slowly, still feeling the fatigue of childbirth, and smiled at Andrew.

A faint sound, barely a whisper, crossed the room, followed by the soft but insistent sound of Celeste wriggling in her cradle. Her little legs were wiggling under the covers, her arms gesticulating awkwardly. She wasn't quite awake yet, but Camille recognised that moment. The one just before the crying, when Celeste was looking for a reassuring presence.

Andrew was the first to react, gently leaning over the baby. Camille watched, smiling.

'Hush, it's all right, Daddy's here,' he murmured, trying to reassure her before her cries became more insistent.

Camille sat back and watched the scene, an amused and tender smile on her lips. Andrew, who a few hours earlier had still doubted her abilities, was there, without hesitation, watching over Celeste with protective care. He placed his hand gently on their little one's stomach, imitating the movements he had seen Camille make, rocking her gently and steadily.

Celeste seemed to calm down almost instantly. Her little legs stopped jiggling and she let out a little sigh, resuming her peaceful breathing. He got up and laid her gently in the cradle. Andrew looked at her, surprised at how well he'd done, and slowly turned his head towards Camille.

- It worked, he whispered, as if afraid of breaking this fragile moment.

Camille sat up slightly on her elbows, her smile widening.

- Of course it worked. You're her dad, she recognises your voice, your touch.

- She's still so little. I wasn't this nervous with Anastasia. I feel like I've forgotten everything.

- Of course you haven't.

Andrew leaned over the cradle for a moment, contemplating his daughter. Celeste's room was a cocoon of softness, bathed in pastel tones and filled with the little attention accumulated over the months of waiting: a wooden mobile, a cuddly toy on the chest of drawers, and this carefully chosen cradle. Camille felt her heart clench with tenderness. Camille in turn approached the cradle, her movements slower, more natural. She gently caressed Celeste's cheek, who was now fast asleep. She was simply beautiful, the most beautiful baby in the world, even if every parent says so.

- Is there anything I can do for you? Andrew asked her, whispering.

- I'm fine, thanks. We're doing pretty well,' she whispered to Andrew, turning back to him.