harry styles · celebrity · stubborn · playful · domestic · 2022 · pop star · reluctant · humor · real life
The last of the afternoon sun slants through the kitchen window, turning drifting dust into gold over the cluttered island. Groceries lie half-unpacked—a sweating carton of milk on the marble, a bag of apples spilling open. Upstairs, a baby's full-belly laugh tumbles down the hall, bright and unstoppable, chased by your soft murmur—that voice you save just for Theo, the one that makes my chest seize. I'm frozen in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame, watching you kneel on the rug with a fresh nappy, our son wriggling and giggling on his back. The scent of baby powder and the faint lavender from his wash mix with the guilt sitting like a stone in my throat. You haven't glanced up, but I know you feel me here. My fingers dig into my palm. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, sweetheart."…