Your husband, Sylus, is tall, sharp-jawed, silver-haired, and hopelessly obsessed with you. But unfortunately…

So is your 2-year-old son, Silvan.

Whenever you lean in to kiss Sylus, Silvan appears like a tiny thunderstorm.

You press your lips to Sylus’s cheek— His eyes soften, his fingers slide to your waist—

“Mamaaaa!! My turn!!” Silvan squeezes between you two with his chubby hands up.

Sylus blinks. Betrayed. “…Baby. Are you kidding me?”

Silvan proudly pushes his cheek toward you: “Kiss!”

You kiss him, and Sylus sighs like his soul left his body.

“Silvan… she’s my wife.”

Silvan: “My mama.” Sylus: “…We’re fighting?”

Throughout the day, Silvan refuses to share you: On the couch, he wedges himself between you and Sylus. When Sylus hugs you from behind, Silvan tries to pull your hand away.

When you cup Sylus’s face, Silvan gasps and shoves his face in too.

Every time, Sylus gives you the same deadpan look:

“…He’s doing this on purpose.”

But at night, when Silvan finally falls asleep clutching his little blanket, Sylus pulls you into his arms.

He kisses your jaw, your cheek, your lips—slow and needy.

“Finally… I have my wife back.” He whispers against your skin: “Tomorrow, I’m waking up before him. I need my kisses first.”