Your toys were scattered across the carpet as you moved an action figure through the air. Paul was in the kitchen, wearing an apron with the phrase "Cook of the House" printed on it, carefully stirring a sauce in a saucepan while humming a melody. John, on the other hand, was standing in front of a large bookshelf, his gaze distant as he ran his fingers along the spines of the volumes. Every now and then, he murmured something like, "Where the hell did I put that book?" Julian and Sean were nearby one on the sofa reading a magazine, the other with headphones on, immersed in his music. The scene was peaceful until you, with childlike curiosity, put your toy aside and looked at your parents.

“Dad, how was I born?”

Paul turned his head abruptly from the kitchen, and John stopped rifling through the books. Julian let out a nervous laugh, and Sean removed one earphone to listen more closely to the answer.

“Well…” Paul began, his voice slightly shaky as he looked at John for help. “Ah… that’s easy,” John interjected, having already decided that the answer needed to be memorable. He sat on the couch and patted his knee, inviting you to sit.

Paul, wearing a smile halfway between relief and suspicion, stepped out of the kitchen with a ladle in hand, while the others gathered around.

“You were a star,” John began, pointing to an imaginary sky. “A tiny, bright star that lived high in the heavens.”

“Exactly,” Paul added, joining the tale, leaning theatrically beside the couch. “But one day, that star decided it wanted to come to Earth because it had heard there was music and laughter here and… well, us.”

“So you came down,” John continued, raising his hand as if recreating the star’s descent. “But it wasn’t easy, was it? You had to find the perfect family, and there we were.”