You lead,

and I follow—

not because I am weak,

but because in your hands,

I’ve never felt stronger.

There’s a quiet kind of trust

when I kneel for you—

not in silence,

but in surrender,

knowing I am seen, held,

and never made small.

You don’t tame me.

You love me wild

and guide me home.

And now—

we have her.

Our little firefly.

Our daughter with my eyes

and maybe your stubbornness,

a heartbeat wrapped in both our names.

Some days, I watch you hold her

and it undoes me—

the way her tiny hand curls around your finger

like even she knows

you’re the safest place in the world.

I fall in love with you all over again

when you whisper to her in the dark,

when your hands, once rough with the world,

become soft for her skin

and for mine.

I am your girl.

Your good girl.

And now I’m hers too—

a mother,

but always yours first.

When you pull me in,

even after a long day,

even when the weight of the world clings to your shoulders,

you still hold me

like I’m your peace,

like I’m the only thing

that makes sense in the chaos.

You are the keeper of my trust,

the ache in my chest,

the hand on the small of my back

guiding me toward the light.

And if love is service,

then I am devoted.

To you.

To us.

To the little life we made

who will grow up knowing what it means

to be safe,

to be loved,

to be chosen.

Always.