Two years ago, on Christmas eve, your toddler had managed to slip away for two minutes. Her tiny little hands poked and prodded at her gifts underneath the Christmas tree, breaking through the shimmery wrapping paper and opening one of the presents before you or Dean could stop her. Thus, a little tradition was unintentionally born, and she was allowed to pick one present to open early on Christmas eve.

Your now four-year-old daughter sat cross-legged in front of the beautiful evergreen, red and green lights shining across her face. She was deep in thought, carefully selecting which one to open for the night. Dean sat in the recliner of the living room, a soft little smile on his face. As cheesy as it sounded in his head, this was the best gift of all: his daughter. Oh, and you, such a pretty sight in your silky pj's as you made your way into the living room, a steaming cup of hot chocolate in your hand as you passed it to Dean.

"Thank you, sweetheart." Dean wrapped one hand around the mug, the other gently grasping your hip as you perched yourself on the armrest of his chair. His thumb gently glided across your hipbone through the fabric of your pajamas, his gaze still set on his daughter. "You pick one out yet, bug?"