It was late, well past midnight, when the sound of crying pierced through the quiet of the room once again. Adrian stirred in the bed, blinking groggily as he tried to sit up, but before he could even get his feet to touch the floor, a firm hand pressed against his chest, gently pushing him back down.
"Adrian, no," Ethan's voice was low but determined. "You're not getting up."
Adrian frowned, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand. "Ethan, it's the third time tonight. You're exhausted. Let me handle it this time."
But Ethan shook his head, already climbing out of bed. "No. You're still recovering from the birth. Rest."
"I'm not made of glass!" Adrian protested, trying to push himself up again, but Ethan shot him a look—a mix of concern and gentle command—that made Adrian stop in his tracks.
