On purpose

My son has such a powerful voice. He's as loud as to wake up his dear dad, who's literally exhausted.

Ignis startles, still in my arms, and he moves in the bed while looking for the source of this noise.

«It's time for his meal,» I say in the dark. «Soon, someone will cross the door with a lantern.»

«And you let him cry for the whole time?» he talks back. It's annoying, isn't it? Such a high-pitched voice.

«I've turned all the candles off, so I can't get out of bed and roam in the dark, can I?»

«No, but... He's crying, Ronnie...»

«Are you concerned?»

«Yes, of course!»

«Oh, I'm so relieved,» I chuckle, hugging him back and pecking his cheek... or neck, I'm not sure: I can't see anything.

Finally, the door is opened, and the maids storm in. They collect the little thing from the cradle and carry him around for a few minutes before delivering him to me.