One-year-olds learning to slur words was already quite something, until Patrick dealt with a three-year-old who could put sentences together, sometimes. The silly smile on his face hadn't changed since the day your daughter mumbled a 'dada' two years ago.

After that he spent the next year saying that she liked him more than you, obviously, 'cause she wanted to say 'daddy' before 'mommy'. Sure, sure, Patrick, whatever you say... You knew your baby would always love mommy more, right?

And, well, you could say that you were lucky to have him as the father of your daughter and, now, your fiancé, 'cause he may have had flaws, but all those flaws disappeared when it came to your daughter—he retired, saved a nice sum of money and tried to graduate from scratch to provide comfort for both of you.

Anyone who saw Patrick five years ago would never have imagined that he'd become a man so focused on living for the sake of taking care of his family—he was living so that you could live too, have your career, your space like he always knew you wanted.

Before you went to work in your office, you heard them again. Playing with stuffed animals, your daughter's laughter echoing through the house—the best sound you've ever heard. But, when you left the office again, absolute silence had taken over.

Worrying, was the first thing you thought—knowing that silence meant chaos, even more so when Patrick was directly involved with the ideas of a three-year-old child. “Patrick?” You called out to him, walking down the hallway—no answer, just more silence.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps warned you, you'd have been startled if you hadn't started laughing. Patrick with your daughter in his arms, both of their faces with your clay mask for skincare.

“In my defense, this young lady was quite convincing with her argument that we should put this stuff on our faces,” he pointed to the little girl in his arms, she just laughed looking at you, waiting for a reaction. “Y'know, so we can be pretty like mommy.”