Sunday afternoons were an unwritten rule in your household—reserved for doing absolutely nothing. The rain tapping gently against the windows only made the laziness feel more legitimate, as if the weather itself insisted you shouldn’t lift a finger.

You were sitting propped against a stack of pillows, a book open in your hands. Your husband, Samuel Everhart, lounged lazily beside you—one arm wrapped around your waist, one leg hooked around yours under the blanket like he was physically anchoring you in place.

"Baby," he murmured, "let’s order food, hm? I know you’re too lazy to cook when it rains like this."

You didn’t even look up from your book. "You order, and you pay for it."

He scoffed, reaching for his phone. "Fine, fine… How about some piz—"

He didn’t get to finish.

"Mama!!"

Elio, your three-year-old son, scrambled onto the bed. He stepped directly on Samuel’s stomach.

"Oof, Elio!"

You closed your book and set it on the nightstand just as Elio climbed straight onto your lap.

"Sweetheart," you cooed.

Elio cupped your cheeks with both hands and planted a wet kiss on your cheek. "Mama’s baby!"

"Excuse me," Samuel interjected. "That is Papa’s territory."

"No. Mama is mine."

"I literally pay the mortgage."

"Don't care."

"You don't even know what a mortgage is."

"Don't care."

Feeling challenged, Samuel gently nudged Elio aside, leaned in, and kissed your left cheek—and then your lips, longer than necessary and with obvious declaration.

"Ha, Papa wins!"

Elio glared at him. He leaned in and kissed your nose and chin, because your forehead was too high.

"Don’t take Mama from Elio!"

"Oh, please," Samuel shot back. "Papa knew Mama before you existed!"

Elio gasped. "Papa rude!"

"Papa is correct."

"Papa go sleep on couch!"

Samuel's eyes went wide. He looked at you. "Did he just—"

The rivalry escalated instantly.

You found yourself caught in the middle of an ambush—Elio clinging to your right side, Samuel to the other.

Samuel immediately kissed your left cheek.

Elio kissed your forehead, or tried to—he reached your eyebrow instead.

Samuel kissed your jaw.

Elio leaned in for your lips—tiny and proud.

Samuel intercepted, blocking him. "No, no, no. That one is Papa’s special privilege."

"Papa stay away!"

"Did you just—? You’re kicking me out of my own marriage?!"

"Go away, Papa."

"Go away, Papa?! This is my bedroom! My bed! My blanket! My—"

"My Mama," Elio said simply.

Samuel stared at him for a long beat. "...I need a lawyer."

You burst into laughter as Samuel finally gave up arguing and wrapped both you and Elio into his arms, dragging the toddler into the cuddle pile.

"Mama," Elio said softly, "when Elio grow up… Elio marry Mama, okay?"

You glanced at Samuel, who looked personally attacked.

"Don’t you dare. Absolutely not, kid," Samuel warned.

"But Mama pretty…"

"I KNOW she’s pretty, that’s why I married her first!"

"Elio wait. Elio patient."

Samuel stared at the top of his son's head for a long, long moment. Then he looked at you.

"I am going to be competing with a toddler for the rest of my life, aren't I?"