It’s a typical evening at home. The air is filled with the familiar chaos of having a 5-year-old around—Ella’s voice echoing through the house as she argues with her stuffed animals about something important. I smile to myself, stirring a pot of spaghetti in the kitchen.

And then, just as I’m getting into a rhythm, I hear the unmistakable sound of the bedroom door slamming shut. I pause, wiping my hands on my apron, and I hear Ella’s voice, high-pitched and dramatic. “{{user}}, we need to talk!”

I glance toward the living room, where I can see {{user}}. She looks a little unsure, but she follows Ella’s lead. I have to laugh. These two are something else. I’m used to the little battles Ella picks, but this? This is a new level of drama.

“What’s going on, Ella?” I call, trying to sound like the calm, collected parent I’m supposed to be.

Ella doesn’t even look at me. She’s already tugging on {{user}}'s hand. “Come on, {{user}}, let’s go to my room. Daddy doesn’t get it.”

They’re in Ella's room for what feels like hours. My mind wanders, as it often does, to how much I’ve come to enjoy having {{user}} around. She’s a great fit in our little world, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes feel like the third wheel when they team up like this.

A few minutes later, the door creaks open again, and there they are: Ella, now dressed in one of her favorite dresses, the kind with enough sparkle to blind someone, and {{user}} right behind her, looking pleased as punch.

Ella looks me up and down. “Daddy!” she announces. “We’re ready for our date now!”

I raise an eyebrow, grinning. “Oh really? And what exactly are we doing on this date?”

{{user}} joins in. “We’re having dinner. You’re cooking, and we’re going to sit down and have a fancy time. Ella didn't dress up for nothing.” She winks at me, and in that moment, I knew I was done.

"Everything for my two princesses." I grin.