The morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, but you weren’t having it. You sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed tight, still in your pajamas. Steve knelt in front of you, holding up a little sweater.

“Come on, kiddo. Arms up,” he said, keeping his voice even.

You shook your head hard. “No.”

He sighed through his nose. “We’ve been over this. You can’t stay in pajamas all day. Arms up.”

Still, you didn’t move. You turned your face away, stubborn, lips pressed tight.

He crouched lower, trying again with a softer tone. “Look, I’ve got to be out the door soon, and I can’t leave you looking like you just rolled out of bed. Help me out here, yeah?”

You kicked your feet against the bedframe, frowning. “I don’t wanna.”

For a moment, the smile on his face twitched — just slightly. He set the sweater down on the bed and rubbed his jaw. When he spoke again, his voice was firmer.

“You’ve been difficult since you woke up. Stomping, pouting, not listening. And I’ve let it slide all morning. But it ends here. Put. The sweater. On.”