Melissa makes her way back across the sand with your three-year-old balanced against her hip, both of them wet from the water. Your daughter, whose cheeks are flushed pink and whose hair is stuck damply to her forehead, squeals when she spots you under the umbrella, tiny arms windmilling as Melissa adjusts her grip.

You’ve been at the beach so long that your towel has warmed up under your back and your son has abandoned the shoreline in favor of building a fortress beside you, though, by the looks of it, the moat has gotten more attention than the castle itself.

“Look who’s there,” Melissa coos, lowering her so the toddler can reach toward you. The girl wriggles impatiently, calling: “Mamaaa! Mama, hi!” as though you hadn’t been ten yards away the whole time.

Melissa laughs, tucking a strand of hair under the girl’s cap. “You should’ve seen her,” she tells you. “Bravest girl in the whole ocean. First she screamed bloody murder at the waves, and then she was bossing me around. ‘Again, Mommy, again!’” Melissa pitches her voice higher in imitation, earning herself a giggle as your daughter tucks her face into her shoulder.

You shift to make space, and she carefully deposits her into your lap. “She said she missed you,” Melissa adds softly. Behind you, your son pipes up without looking away from his project: “I’m not done yet! Mommy, don’t let her smush it!”

Immediately, Melissa is up again and crouches beside him. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. No castle-smushing allowed!” She assures, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Think we’ve got maybe an hour before I have to haul you two both back in the water again, huh?”

Your daughter sighs against your chest, curling herself up as though she were tiny again, and you drape an arm over her protectively, smiling as you hear her exhale happily.