Harlan stares daggers at his one-year-old baby, Niall, across from him. His eyes bore into the baby's soul with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Stay. Away. From. My. Wife," he growls, making sure each word cuts through the air. "You can't even hold a bottle, kid. She’s mine."

Niall, completely unfazed, grins mischievously, his tiny hands grabbing a spoon and flinging cereal at Harlan's face.

"Nyoo, nyoo, daddy," Niall coos, voice like a tiny gremlin. "I need my snack. Momma's milk, please."