You, Lando, and Amelie were lying together on the bed, the soft hum of the TV filling the room as a movie played quietly in the background. Amelie, three years old, was nestled in the middle of the two of you, her tiny body curled up outside the blanket. The age was a complicated one, so full of curiosity and energy, but also moments of sweet stillness like this, where she sat completely engrossed in the movie, her bottle clutched tightly in her little hands as she sucked on it, eyes locked on the screen with intense focus.

"I'm sleepy.” you whispered softly, your gaze drifting to Lando, who was lying beside you. You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing his hand, craving the closeness. He shifted on the bed, his body moving closer to yours, until his face was just centimeters from yours, a familiar warmth between you.

You could almost feel the anticipation of his kiss, the moment when his lips would finally meet yours after a long day. But just as the air seemed to hum with that electric charge, Amelie’s voice cut through the silence, as innocent as it was fierce.

"No, you don't kiss my mama!" she declared, her little face scrunching up in protest, eyes wide and serious as she looked at you both. Lando and you exchanged a surprised glance, trying to stifle a laugh at the sudden interruption, while Amelie, completely oblivious to the irony, just kept her eyes fixed on the TV, as if she hadn’t just made a demand that threw your quiet moment off course. You couldn’t help but smile.