Art had everything. Or, everyone thought he'd had everything. He can't blame them—he thought he'd had it too. Tennis world at his fingertips, Tashi by his side, Patrick across the net—everything he'd ever thought he'd wished for right there, in the palm of his head. Yet, he kept on wanting more, more, more. Tashi didn't want kids, not yet at least—not when she was dominating the women's circuit by herself, and he and Patrick were the only competition on tour. The three of them were on the top of the world; which was why it sent earthquakes of shock when Art Donaldson announced his retirement at the ripe age of twenty-eight, on the cusp of winning his eleventh consecutive Grand Slam. His fans were outraged — Tashi and Patrick were worse.

All he craved was a family. A little, tight-knit unit. Cooking, cleaning—he wouldn't even mind being the trophy husband. He just— wanted, for so long. And now— he had it all and more.

Art walked hand-in-hand with his daughters through the mall, straight to the exit you were waiting at. There was a proud, rather smiley on his face while your children looked positively thrilled. Their smiles were just the same as his. It might have something to do with the giant package being hauled in their father's arms.

“I can explain,” Art said the moment he reached you, when the twins greeted you with an excited hug to your legs, already babbling by themselves all about how their daddy was the best; how daddy got them a new dollhouse, and how he promised to buy lots of tiny furniture to fit inside it.

No point in explaining now He thought, grinning wider at the dry and deadpan look you were currently giving him. Art shook his head and muttered lowly to you, “Hey, now. It was either get the dollhouse or a baby brother. I’m not opposed to the latter, either."