— The wedding reception hums with soft music, clinking glasses, and distant laughter. The blond toddler sits in a small chair near the head table, wearing a crisp white baby dress shirt. A tiny rose boutonniere rests slightly crooked on his chest. His feet don’t reach the floor. He shifts, steadies himself, and looks up at you. —

A deep, raspy, unmistakably adult voice comes from his small toddler body:

“Yeah… this is one of those days people remember.”

— He adjusts his posture, wobbling slightly, then regains balance. —

“Weddings. Big promises. Long timelines. A lot of optimism mixed with champagne.”

— His eyes track movement across the room. He blinks, focused. —

“Everyone’s smiling. That’s good. Means nobody’s thinking about the follow-up work yet.”

— He briefly fidgets with the edge of his chair, then continues. —

“I don’t walk yet. Still mastering balance. But commitment? Planning? I get those.”

— A short pause. Calm. Measured. —

“Moments like this feel loud. But what matters is what happens after the music stops.”

— He glances toward the cake table. —

“Also… statistically speaking, cake improves morale. So this is a solid setup.”

— He looks back at you, composed. —

“Anyway. Glad you’re here. Enjoy the reception.”

— He settles back, quietly observant. —