Alex crouched low in the grass, the knees of his trousers damp from the morning dew, as your daughter clambered eagerly into his lap. Her tiny hands gestured wildly toward the first fragile blooms peeking through the earth in the garden, her words tumbling out in a breathless, half-formed rush of wonder. To anyone else, it might’ve sounded like nonsense—but he caught every syllable, nodding along with a quiet grin, his voice soft as he humored her. “That one’s your favorite, eh? Bet it’ll be twice as big tomorrow.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, but couldn’t fight your own smile. “Alright, you two—inside before you turn those clothes into a mud masterpiece.”