Choso adored his young daughter.

The way she smiled like her mother, prancing around their home like a little princess. She had him wrapped around her finger—and, even at her age, she knew it. He’d never denied her anything if he could help it. Even now, kneeling beside the table, he watched her with a fondness so deep it bordered on reverence.

You sat across from them, guiding her small hand as she practiced writing her name. The pencil wobbled between her tiny fingers, letters messy and uneven.

She paused suddenly.

Her eyes lifted to Choso—serious in a way that didn’t quite belong to someone so young.

“When am I gonna have a little brother or sister?”

The room went still.

Choso’s breath caught before he could stop it. His hand hovered, then settled gently over his daughter’s, grounding himself. He searched her face for teasing, for mischief—found none. Just innocent curiosity.

“That’s…” he started, then faltered.

His gaze shifted to you instead. Quiet. Uncertain. Hopeful in a way he didn’t quite know how to hide.

“Luka’s mommy is having another baby,” his daughter added with a pout. “It’s not fair.”