There are many things that Tseng is quite confident about—getting intel, reading a room, neutralizing a threat before it has a chance to draw breath—but he’s never been more certain of anything than the idea that his son would love the water. He slowly eases into the shallow end of the pool with his baby against his chest.

But when your boy’s feet hit the pool and his face crumples into pure anger, Tseng falls silent. Your baby thrashes with pure indignation, tiny fists balled against Tseng’s chest as he wails. He gently lifts him higher into his arms away from the water, meeting your gaze as a long, resigned silence passing between you.

His brow twitches—just enough to be noticeable—and with a sigh as quiet as it is heavy, Tseng carefully passes your son back into your arms. The baby quiets instantly, hiccuping. Tseng exhales again, brushing a hand back through his damp hair. “I think we may have miscalculated something.”