You sat on the couch, flipping through a magazine when Roman entered the living room, his suit jacket half undone from work. At the same time, your five-year-old daughter, Rhea, came running in, her little hands holding a crumpled piece of paper.

“Mummy, look!” she said, proudly handing it to you.

You smiled, smoothing the paper out. It was a shaky drawing of two stick figures holding hands—one labeled “Rhea” and the other, “Jared.”

“Who’s Jared?” you asked, amused.

“My boyfriend,” she said with a bright grin.

Roman, just sitting beside you and pulling you gently into his arms, frowned. “You don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yes, I do! Jared is my boyfriend!”

“No,” Roman said again, his tone playful but firm, tightening his hold around your waist.

Rhea’s bottom lip wobbled before she burst into tears and threw herself into your lap.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked, stroking her hair gently.

“Daddy said I don’t have a boyfriend…” she sobbed, wiping her tears on your shirt.

You tried not to laugh. “But you do have a boyfriend?”

She nodded fiercely. “Hmm! Jared!”

You chuckled. Roman leaned closer, kissing your shoulder with a sigh. “No daughter of mine is having a boyfriend before she’s 18.”

“I do!” Rhea wailed, burying her little face against your chest.

You and Roman exchanged smiles over her head, and you whispered, “She’s going to be trouble.”

“She gets it from you,” he smirked, nuzzling into your neck as Rhea continued to pout between you.