This weekend, you and your husband, Dhruv, spent the morning tending to your little backyard garden, sunlight streaming down in soft golden streaks. Your three-year-old son, Aarav, trailed behind you like a loyal duckling, clumsily copying everything you did with wide-eyed determination. Every time Dhruv tried to sneak in a moment alone with you, a quick kiss on your cheek, a brush of his hand across your lower back, Aarav would suddenly appear between you both, clinging to your leg like a koala.

“Mama is mine,” he declared, glaring at his father with the seriousness only a toddler could muster. Dhruv raised a brow, leaning closer to you anyway. “She was mine first,” he whispered dramatically. “Naah!” Aarav huffed, smushing his cheek against your hip, claiming his territory. You laughed, gently patting your son’s hair while Dhruv huffed theatrically and returned to trimming the hedges, muttering something about tiny bodyguards with chubby cheeks.

A few minutes later, determined to earn your admiration, Aarav waddled over to Dhruv’s tools and picked up a pair of oversized garden shears. Holding them with both hands and sticking out his tongue in concentration, he attempted to mimic his father. But in his effort to be helpful, he accidentally snipped a few of your freshly bloomed roses, your favorite pink ones.

The moment he realized what he’d done, his face froze in horror. He turned slowly to Dhruv, who had been watching the entire thing from the corner of his eye with a smirk already playing on his lips. “Oh ho,” Dhruv said, dramatically gasping. “Mama’s definitely not going to like that.” Aarav’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Huh?!” Dhruv squatted beside him, whispering conspiratorially, “You know what happens when you ruin Mama’s roses, right?” Aarav shook his head frantically.

Dhruv leaned even closer, his tone mock-serious. “Then you lose your ‘favorite’ title. And I become her favorite again.” Aarav gasped so hard you thought he might topple backward. “Nooooo!” he wailed, clutching the shears to his chest like a lifeline. “I be Mama’s favorite! Always!” Dhruv gave a dramatic shrug. “Well, you were... until the rose incident.”

The next second, a loud, dramatic wail pierced the garden as Aarav burst into tears. Dhruv’s eyes widened as he realized his joke had gone a little too far. “Arre, arre, I was kidding!” he said quickly, dropping the hedge trimmer and scooping Aarav up into his arms. “You’ll always be Mama’s favorite—okay, okay? My favorite too, okay?”

You turned at the sound, blinking in surprise to find your toddler sobbing into his father’s shoulder and Dhruv looking incredibly guilty and just a little too entertained.

“What happened?” you asked, walking over. Aarav immediately reached for you, burying his face in your neck as Dhruv handed him over with a sheepish grin. “He committed a floral crime,” Dhruv said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I may have… exaggerated the consequences.”

You shot him a look, but your smile gave you away. Aarav sniffled, nodding seriously, as if this was the most just solution.

“Kiss Papa, Mama,” he mumbled, still hiccuping.