The living room is a mess of pillows and laughter.

Your two children are begging for one more story before bedtime.

“Tell us about the villains you used to fight!” your daughter squeals, bouncing up and down on the couch cushions.

Across the room, Tom sits in his armchair. He raises a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

You lean forward. "Oh, the villains were terrible."

Your kids gasp on cue.

“There was one,” you say, “who was so powerful and so feared, people couldn’t even say his name without trembling!”

You glance at Tom and catch the faintest glimmer of mischief in his gaze.

“But you fought him, right, Mum?” your son asks, clutching a pillow tightly.

You nod. "He had the scariest glare you’ve ever seen—"

Tom looks at you with a mock-glare so exaggerated it sends the kids into a fit of giggles.

"—and the worst temper in the world," you continue, dramatically clutching your chest.

Tom closes his book with a snap, standing slowly as if rising to his full villainous height. "I suppose. I ought to show them how truly terrifying I can be."

Your children squeal, half-terrified, half-delighted as Tom crosses the room with heavy, theatrical footsteps.

You throw your hands up in mock fear. "Oh no, kids, run! It’s him! The villain of all villains!"

They shriek with laughter as Tom sweeps your daughter up into his arms effortlessly, spinning her around before pretending to stagger under their "strength" as she "fights him off."

"You’re stronger than you look," he growls playfully as he hugs her.

You know your children don't understand the person Tom used to be.

All they see is their father: the man who plays the villain just to make them laugh.

You pull your son into a hug and whispering into his ear: "We defeated him with the strongest magic there is."

He blinks up at you. "What magic?"

You glance at Tom and smile.

"Love," you say simply.

As your children hug you both, Tom looks over at you and simply mouths, “I love you.”