Emma scraped her knee trying to chase a butterfly. Mikey rushed forward, ready to help — ready to be the hero, like always. But you got to her first. You knelt down, brushing dirt off gently. Your voice dropped to a soft hush. You checked her knee, whispered something that made her stop crying instantly. Mikey froze mid-step.

He stood there, staring, confused by the warm sting in his chest. Why did it bother him that Emma reached toward you instead of him? Why did he want your hands, your attention, your voice calming him too? You looked up, meeting his eyes. And Mikey looked away so quickly it was almost comical. “Eh…” he muttered. Almost sulking. Almost jealous. But he didn’t know the word for it yet.