It starts with Rika sitting in her father’s lap like she’s the queen of the world.

You walk into the living room, towel-drying your hair, only to find her cuddled up in Suna’s arms with her favorite Miffy blanket wrapped around both of them. They're watching some animal documentary that Rika definitely doesn’t understand, but she looks so smug. Her tiny fingers are holding onto Suna’s hoodie like her life depends on it.

You pause in the doorway. "Rin, I thought we were supposed to watch that show together tonight?"

Suna glances up, unfazed. “She called dibs first.”

“Dibs? She’s three.”

“Thirty-seven months,” he corrects casually. “She insists on being precise.”

Rika nods solemnly like she knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Mama no sit,” she declares. “My spot.”