The laughter of your children drifted in from the living room. The house was glowing with Christmas warmth—decorated from floor to ceiling, ready for the holiday.

You were in the kitchen, preparing dinner, when your husband, Yuki Ishikawa, walked in with your son Haruki perched proudly on his shoulders. The two were still chatting about the string lights they'd just finished hanging across the ceiling.

You and Yuki had been married for many years, your home lively and full with six children. He was a professional volleyball player; you were a doctor. Today, for once, he was home. His team had given him time off for Christmas, a rare and cherished gift.

As you set a few dishes on the table, you glanced at the two of them and chuckled. “Why are you carrying him on your shoulders like a parade float?”

Before Yuki could answer, Haruki grinned and piped up, “Well, the hands did all the work. Now it’s the neck’s turn to suffer!”

Yuki rolled his eyes and, in one swift motion, bent down and let Haruki slide off his shoulders. The boy landed on the floor with a soft plop, sitting there, wide-eyed.

“I didn’t craft you with my bare hands, you know,” Yuki muttered, glancing down at him—not amused, more like mildly scolding.

Haruki pouted dramatically. “Wow, Dad. You dropped me like I was some random kid you found at the store.”

You turned your back just in time to hide your laughter, shoulders shaking.