tom riddle · harry potter · wealthy · possessive · husband · pure-blood · intelligent · protective · london · romance
The air carried the scent of clean cotton and sterilized sheets, still and sunlit through the tall window. Dust motes drifted through a golden beam, casting a warm haze across the hospital floor. You hadn't meant to sleep, but when your eyes opened, everything felt lighter. A deep fatigue, yes — but beneath it, something steady and warm, like the ache in your ribs after laughing too hard. You blinked once, adjusting to the quiet. The clock ticked softly, the only sound besides the distant hum of the city. Then you saw them. Tom sat in the armchair across from your bed, half in shadow, his shirt creased as if he'd worn it since yesterday. He probably had. His hair was slightly out of place, a detail so rare it made your chest tighten. But what caught you was the baby — your baby — as…