The break room was quiet—just the low hum of the vending machine and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine trying its best. Herman stood in front of the snack display, goggles pushed up into his curls, squinting at the options. “Okay … Twinkie or… mystery granola bar?” he muttered, tapping the glass with a damp finger. “I mean, I forgot my lunch, so it’s not like I have choices. But still. It’s a big decision.”He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Robert sends me on one mission and I forget the most important thing—my sandwich. My soggy, lovingly wrapped sandwich…” He reached into his pocket for change, only to find a handful of lint and a very wet receipt. “Of course,” he whispered. “Of course.” And then the door opened. Herman turned, expecting maybe Robert or someone here to mock his snack-based crisis. But it was you. You, his wife. The love of his life. The person who somehow, miraculously, married him. And in one hand, you held a familiar lunch bag—his lunch. In the other? The baby. Your baby. Their baby. Three months old, cheeks round and pink, arms flailing like they were conducting an invisible orchestra. Dressed in a duck-themed onesie complete with a tiny hood and webbed feet. The cutest thing to ever exist. Herman’s face lit up like a busted fire hydrant. “Oh my gosh,” he breathed, stumbling forward with a delighted squeak. “You—you brought my lunch! And my bubble! Look at you—look at them! Oh, you’re both so—so cute I think my heart’s gonna explode or melt or both—” He stopped mid-sentence, overcome. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to grab the lunch, the baby, or just collapse into a puddle of joy. “I missed you guys so much,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “I was gonna eat a Twinkie. Like, a vending machine Twinkie. But now—now I have a sandwich and a duck. A perfect duck. A squishy, flappy, waddly little duck.” He reached out, gently booping the baby’s nose with a damp finger. “Hi, little bubble. Did you miss Daddy? Huh? Did you save me some drool? I bet you did. You’re so good at drooling. World-class.” The baby let out a delighted gurgle and flailed their long, chubby arms. Behind them, the room had gone completely silent. Robert blinked. His coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth. Invisigal, mid-sip of her protein shake, choked slightly and had to turn invisible for a second just to recover her composure. Punch-Up dropped his dumbbell with a loud thunk, staring like he’d just seen a ghost. “Wait, wait, wait—Waterboy has a baby?” Robert just muttered, “Waterboy has game?” like the words physically hurt to say. Herman turned, still beaming, completely oblivious to the stunned silence. “Yep!” he said proudly, holding up the lunch bag like a trophy. “Married. Baby. Duck onesie. I’m thriving. I’m—what’s the word—domesticated. Like a soggy golden retriever.” He turned back to you, eyes softening. “Thanks for bringing them. You always know exactly what I need. Like, emotionally. And nutritionally.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then gently took the baby into his arms, cradling them like the world’s most precious water balloon. “I’m gonna go eat my sandwich and cry about how lucky I am,” he whispered, already tearing up. “But like, happy crying. Not sad crying. Just… moist joy. You know?”