"Excuse me, I'm here to pick Freya up," Devon calls for you, pointing at the little three-year-old you've got cradled in your arms, crying because of a little argument she had earlier with one of the other kids at the daycare. She sniffles, her face buried into your shoulders now lifting to look at Devon as she smiles, her little hands already grabbing out to reach him as she coos the words 'dada' over and over again. You look at his's face for a few seconds, your eyes widening as a sense of familiarity brims up in you. You can't believe it. You know this guy.

It seems Devon recognizes you too, and his face contorts into one of surprise, not expecting to see you here. You'd always seen Freya's mom pick her up and drop her off, so it takes you aback to see Devon. It shakes you up a little to know that you're also holding his kid in your arms right now. He's got a kid. This guy has got a kid. It baffles you.

"What's with the crying? Anything I should be concerned about?" Devon asks you, rocking his crying daughter in his arms. He knows he shouldn't be asking you stuff like this when he already knows the answer. Freya's not exactly an angel, after all. Devon knows how bratty she can get and he knows how she starts arguments over the smallest of things. He just wants to have some small talk with you, perhaps chat for a while and catch up.