Cassian Andor (rebelspy) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-05-14 16:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, r * laura, r: diego rojas |
WHO: Diego Rojas & baby Molly
WHEN: within a few weeks of Molly's birth, 2012
WHERE: their house
SUMMARY: Diego's a softie for his baby, who knew.
WARNINGS: Naaaaah.
When Grace had told him she was pregnant, for a second Diego hadn’t believed her. He hadn’t wanted to open himself up to the possibility that it wasn’t true, not because they didn’t want it but because they did. Because he did. It just came so much sooner than he’d expected. Diego would have been happy if their family had consisted of only him, Grace and Finn. That was what he’d signed up for when he’d started dating Grace, and he adored Finn like he was his. Finn was his in all the ways that really counted. It had never mattered that Finn wasn’t his biological child. The love was real, and that was what mattered. But Diego knew he’d missed a lot -- eleven years, to be exact. When Molly finally arrived, it became so clear how much of Finn’s life he’d missed, just because fate hadn’t seen fit to introduce him to Grace any earlier. With Molly, he had a chance to do all the things he’d missed out on with Finn: get up in the middle of the night to feed her, hear her first words, encourage her with her first steps. He couldn’t wait. The reality wasn’t anything like he expected. It was harder, but it was so much better, too. Grace was worn thin, so when Molly woke up crying, he got up with her instead. He didn’t mind at all; sometimes these were the only moments they had to themselves all day, between his job and Grace’s job and taking care of the house and taking care of Finn. In the deep of night, a bottle in his hand and his baby in his other, everything else just fell away. He probably shouldn’t be so soft when it came to Molly. He probably should let her soothe herself back to sleep instead of holding her well after she was done with her bottle. He probably should try to get back to sleep himself. But he couldn’t quite let go. The room was quiet, the only light coming from a softly glowing lamp next to the rocking chair. Molly squirmed a little, and Diego shifted, a memory of a lullaby on the tip of his tongue. His abuelita had sung it to him many years ago, and now he could pass that on. His heart felt full in that moment. “I hope I remember right,” he murmured, leaning in so he could kiss his daughter’s forehead. “Arrorró mi niña, arrorró mi sol, arrorró pedazo de mi corazón… este niña linda ya quiere dormir, háganle la cuna de rosa y jazmín…” |