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Chris
Los Angeles
June 31st, 9:00 AM
I wake up slowly, the faint hum of the city outside the window blending with the quiet of the house. At first, I'm disoriented, unsure of what time it is, but then I feel her beside me—Beyoncé. I can't help but smile as I watch her, her breath steady and calm, her body wrapped in the warmth of the sheets.
I think back to everything we've been through. The highs and the lows. The struggle, the growth, the sacrifices. But when I look at her—when I see us together, here, now—I know it was all worth it. We've built something beautiful. We've fought through the storm and come out stronger, more connected than ever. She's my heart, and I'm hers.
I reach over and gently touch her shoulder, careful not to wake her. She stirs a little but doesn't fully wake, and I take that as my cue. Slowly, I slip out of bed, making sure to move quietly. I don't want to disturb her; she needs her rest.
The house is still, and I walk quietly down the hallway, past the rooms, past the pictures on the walls that remind me of where we've been. I make my way to the bathroom first, turning on the faucet and splashing cold water on my face. The coolness wakes me up fully, grounding me in the moment.
When I look in the mirror, I can't help but grin. Life's good. Really good. And it's only getting better. I wash my hands, giving myself one more moment to take it all in. I'm a lucky man. More than I deserve, probably.
I quietly walk to the nursery next, wanting to check on Blue Ivy. She's only four months old, but the way she's changed in such a short time... it blows my mind. I open the door just a crack and peek in.
There she is—my baby girl, lying in her crib, staring up at the mobile hanging above her. She's cooing softly, her tiny hands reaching out in the air.
"Look at you," I whisper, smiling as I lean against the doorframe. "Already starting to grow some hair, huh?"
I chuckle to myself as I see the little fuzz on her head—tiny curls already forming. "Got that nappy hair from your momma," I tease under my breath, thinking about how she'll probably look just like Beyoncé when she gets older.
I don't expect it, but I hear a soft voice from behind me, "I heard that."
I jump, startled, turning to see Beyoncé standing in the doorway, her hair a little messy but still glowing in the morning light. She's got that smile on her face, the one that makes me feel like everything in the world is right.
"Baby, you scared me," I laugh, my hand over my heart.
She walks in, her eyes soft with love as she looks at our daughter. "Don't be talkin' 'bout my baby's hair. You know I got a good head of hair."
