The rhythmic, constant sound of the waves cradled my thoughts as I woke. My body, still exhausted, was caught between pain and a fragile sense of relief. A soft warmth rested against me, and when I looked down, I saw my son, peacefully asleep, nestled against my chest. His breathing was calm, his face still red from birth, and his tiny fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the blanket.
I gazed at him, awestruck, but a poignant thought crossed my mind: I hadn't named him yet. Not yet. Not without Alessandro. That choice belonged to him—to the man who had waited so eagerly, who spoke of this child as a treasure long before he was born. Alessandro had dreamed of this moment, of seeing his son for the first time, and I knew how much it meant to him to choose a name that carried weight for our family. I couldn't take that away from him, even in his absence.
