Sloane
People always ask Jules and me the same question.
"How do you do it?"
The answer?
We don't.
We're just surviving.
Barely.
Especially because our children couldn't be any more different if they tried.
Our eldest son, Azrael, is seven years old.
I gave birth to him.
Meanwhile, our youngest daughter, Yzandra, is four.
Jules gave birth to her.
They have a three-year age gap.
Three years.
That's it.
Just three years.
And yet somehow they act like they belong to completely different species.
Azrael is the kind of child teachers adore.
The kind grandparents brag about.
The kind that makes strangers say, "Wow, he's so well-behaved."
He's quiet.
Composed.
Polite.
Gifted.
And terrifyingly smart.
At seven years old, the boy already has an IQ of 145.
One hundred and forty-five.
When Jules and I first got the results, we thought there had been a mistake.
There wasn't.
The psychologist repeated the test twice.
Azrael still got the same score.
Then the psychologist spent an hour explaining what that meant while Jules and I sat there wondering why our seven-year-old was smarter than both of us combined.
The boy reads constantly.
Always.
If there is a book nearby, Azrael will find it.
And read it.
One time, I walked into the living room at six in the morning and found him reading an encyclopedia.
An encyclopedia.
At seven years old.
Who does that?
Apparently my son.
He asks questions nobody expects from a child his age.
Questions about history.
Questions about science.
Questions about politics.
Questions that make me wonder if I'm actually raising a child or a tiny professor.
The boy even corrects adults.
Politely.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Then there is Yzandra.
My daughter.
My beautiful daughter.
My beloved daughter.
My problem.
The four-year-old menace who wakes up every morning and chooses violence.
Now technically, Jules gave birth to her.
So logically, Yzandra should've inherited more of Jules.
Right?
Wrong.
Very wrong.
Because somehow Yzandra inherited every chaotic trait I possess.
Every single one.
Jules likes to remind me of this daily.
Yzandra is loud.
Fearless.
Curious.
Stubborn.
And unbelievably dramatic.
The child has absolutely no sense of self-preservation.
If she sees something tall, she climbs it.
If she sees something forbidden, she touches it.
If she hears the word "don't," she immediately wants to know why.
And if she gets caught?
She smiles.
A tiny little smile.
The exact same smile I used to give my parents when I got into trouble.
Jules says it's karma.
I think she's enjoying this far too much.
The funniest part is watching Azrael deal with her.
Because despite being only seven, he acts like he's forty.
Meanwhile Yzandra acts like she's the leader of a pirate ship.
This morning was a perfect example.
I walked into the kitchen and found Azrael quietly reading at the dining table.
A thick book sat in front of him.
His breakfast was untouched.
The boy had somehow forgotten to eat because he was reading.
Again.
Then I heard screaming.
Not distressed screaming.
Just regular Yzandra screaming.
Which somehow existed.
I followed the noise into the living room.
And there she was.
Standing on top of our couch.
Arms spread dramatically.
A blanket tied around her neck like a cape.
A wooden spoon clutched in her hand.
"FEAR NOT!"
she yelled.
"I WILL SAVE EVERYONE!"
Then she jumped.
Off the couch.
Directly onto a pile of pillows.
Because apparently she was a superhero today.
Yesterday she was a pirate.
The day before that she was a dragon.
Jules insists she gets her imagination from me.
I refuse to confirm or deny that statement.
Then Yzandra noticed me.
Immediately.
"Mom!"
She ran toward me.
Still wearing the cape.
Still carrying the spoon.
Then she pointed toward Azrael.
"Kuya won't play with me."
I looked toward the dining table.
Azrael looked up from his book.
Then calmly said—
"I'm reading."
The boy sounded exhausted.
At seven years old.
Exhausted.
Then Yzandra gasped dramatically.
Like he'd committed a crime.
Then she pointed at him.
"Books are stealing my brother."
I had to turn around because I started laughing.
Jules walked into the room just in time to hear it.
Then she looked at me.
Then at Yzandra.
Then at Azrael.
Then sighed.
The sigh of a mother who had accepted her fate.
And honestly?
So had I.
Because despite the chaos.
Despite the noise.
Despite the books.
Despite the capes.
Despite the endless questions and endless disasters.
I wouldn't trade them for anything.
Not my quiet little genius.
And definitely not my tiny menace.
After all, they were ours.
And somehow, we were figuring it out together.
The disaster happened exactly thirty-seven minutes later.
Not that I was counting.
Okay.
I was counting.
Because when you have a four-year-old like Yzandra, you learn to keep track of how long peace lasts.
Usually not very long.
This time, it lasted thirty-seven minutes.
A personal record.
I was in my home office reviewing documents from one of my clients. Technically, I was a lawyer. Technically, I still worked.
The keyword there was technically.
Most of my time was spent being a stay-at-home mom.
Which meant my daily responsibilities included preparing meals, cleaning up after children, preventing Yzandra from accidentally killing herself, and occasionally practicing law.
The priorities were obvious.
I was halfway through reading a contract when I heard Azrael's voice.
Not loud.
Azrael was never loud.
But there was concern in it.
Which immediately got my attention.
"Yza."
A pause.
"Don't."
I looked up from my paperwork.
Then heard Yzandra's response.
"Why?"
The most dangerous word in her vocabulary.
Why.
The child asked it approximately six thousand times a day.
Sometimes more.
Then came Azrael's voice again.
"Because Mom said not to."
Another pause.
Then Yzandra answered—
"Mom isn't here."
I immediately stood up.
Because that sentence never led to anything good.
Ever.
I walked out of my office.
Into the living room.
Then froze.
"Oh, for the love of—"
Yzandra was standing on a dining chair.
The dining chair was pushed against a bookshelf.
A very tall bookshelf.
One she absolutely was not allowed to climb.
Meanwhile Azrael stood beside her.
Holding a book in one hand.
Trying to stop her with the other.
The poor boy looked stressed.
Again.
At seven years old.
"Kuya said I'm not allowed."
Yzandra informed me.
Then pointed accusingly at Azrael.
The boy sighed.
"Because you're not."
I crossed my arms.
"Yzandra."
The child immediately smiled.
The smile.
The exact smile that made Jules laugh and made me nervous.
"Hi, Mom."
The little criminal.
Then she pointed toward the top shelf.
"I wanted the box."
I looked upward.
There was indeed a box.
A box filled with old photographs.
A box that had absolutely no reason to be touched by a four-year-old.
"Why?"
I asked.
Then immediately regretted it.
Because now she had permission to explain.
And Yzandra loved explaining.
"I wanted to see baby pictures of Kuya."
Azrael immediately looked horrified.
Which made me laugh.
The boy straightened.
"Absolutely not."
Then Yzandra gasped dramatically.
"Why?"
Azrael looked genuinely offended.
"Because those are private."
The four-year-old stared at him.
Then pointed.
"You peed your pants in kindergarten."
I almost choked.
Azrael looked betrayed.
Completely betrayed.
Then he turned toward me.
"Mom."
A pause.
"Why does she know that?"
I failed to keep a straight face.
"Because Jules told her."
The boy looked toward the veterinary clinic across town.
Like he was reconsidering his relationship with his other mother.
Then Yzandra climbed down from the chair.
Finally.
Thank God.
The moment her feet touched the floor, Azrael visibly relaxed.
Then she immediately grabbed his hand.
"Come on, Kuya."
The boy sighed.
"What now?"
"I wanna draw."
The child answered.
Then started dragging him toward the dining table.
Azrael followed without complaining.
Because despite everything.
Despite how exhausting she was.
Despite how much trouble she caused.
Despite the fact that she touched everything she wasn't supposed to touch—
Azrael adored his little sister.
He always had.
I watched them sit together at the table.
Yzandra immediately started drawing.
Badly.
Very badly.
Meanwhile Azrael quietly opened one of his books.
Then every few seconds, Yzandra would interrupt him.
"Kuya."
"What?"
"Draw a cat."
The boy drew a cat.
Thirty seconds later—
"Kuya."
"What?"
"Draw a dinosaur."
The boy drew a dinosaur.
Then—
"Kuya."
"What?"
"Draw Mom."
The boy drew me.
Then she pointed.
"No."
A pause.
"Prettier."
I laughed.
Meanwhile Azrael sighed.
Again.
Then erased half the drawing.
The child was impossible.
And somehow.
The boy still did whatever she asked.
A few minutes later, the front door opened.
Then Jules walked inside.
Immediately carrying lunch from her clinic.
The moment Yzandra saw her—
Chaos returned.
"MAMA!"
The child launched herself across the room.
Jules barely had time to put her bag down before Yzandra collided with her.
Then the little girl immediately started talking.
Fast.
Very fast.
About superheroes.
About dinosaurs.
About drawings.
About the photo box.
About literally everything.
Meanwhile Jules looked at me.
Then at Azrael.
Then back at me.
And smiled.
The kind of smile that reminded me exactly why I fell in love with her.
Then she said—
"Long day?"
I looked toward our children.
At Azrael quietly reading while Yzandra climbed onto Jules like a monkey.
Then I smiled.
"No."
A pause.
"Just a normal one."
And honestly?
I wouldn't have traded it for anything.
A few days later, I was sitting on our front porch when I saw Gael's car pull into our driveway.
Immediately, I knew something had happened.
Not because of the car.
Not because of Gael.
Because of experience.
Whenever Gael picked the children up from school, they always came home with a story.
Always.
Sometimes it was a good story.
Sometimes it was a concerning story.
Sometimes it was both.
Today turned out to be both.
The passenger door opened first.
Azrael stepped out.
Perfectly normal.
Uniform neat.
Hair in place.
Backpack properly worn.
Exactly what you'd expect from my seven-year-old.
Then the back door opened.
And Yzandra climbed out.
The moment I saw her, I knew.
I just knew.
The front of her kindergarten uniform was covered in ice cream stains.
Chocolate.
Vanilla.
Possibly strawberry too.
Honestly, it looked like she had lost a fight against an entire ice cream shop.
I immediately stood up.
Then crossed my arms.
Yzandra saw me.
Then froze.
The little criminal.
She knew.
She absolutely knew.
Meanwhile Azrael quietly walked past her.
The traitor.
The boy wasn't even attempting to help.
He had already decided she was on her own.
"Yzandra."
I called.
The child smiled.
A very guilty smile.
"Hi, Mom."
I pointed at her uniform.
"What happened?"
The four-year-old immediately looked toward Gael.
Gael immediately looked toward the sky.
"Don't involve me."
He said.
The room wasn't even involved yet and he was already defending himself.
Then Azrael sighed.
A very dramatic sigh.
The kind that sounded far too mature for a second grader.
Then he looked at me.
"She dropped her ice cream."
Yzandra gasped.
"Accidentally."
Azrael looked unimpressed.
"The first one was accidental."
I immediately became interested.
"The first one?"
The boy nodded.
Then pointed at his sister.
"Tito Gael bought us ice cream after school."
A pause.
"She dropped it."
Another.
"Tito Gael bought her another one."
I looked at Yzandra.
The child suddenly found our front lawn fascinating.
Then Azrael continued.
"She dropped that one too."
I looked at Gael.
Gael looked embarrassed.
Then he pointed.
"She cried."
Of course she did.
The room wasn't even involved and somehow I could already hear it.
Then Gael defended himself.
"So I bought her another one."
I stared at him.
"You bought her three ice creams?"
The man looked offended.
"She was sad."
The front door suddenly opened.
Jules had just arrived home from the clinic.
Perfect timing.
"What happened?"
She asked.
Then she saw Yzandra.
Then the uniform.
Then the ice cream stains.
Then she started laughing.
Immediately.
Meanwhile Yzandra pointed dramatically at her mother.
"See?"
A pause.
"Mama understands me."
Jules laughed harder.
Then Azrael looked toward Jules.
"Mama."
A pause.
"She dropped all three."
The room exploded.
Then Yzandra immediately defended herself.
"The third one was slippery."
"Tita Gael was holding it."
"Tito."
Azrael corrected automatically.
The little girl ignored him.
Then she continued.
"The sun was bright."
"The wind was strong."
"It was difficult."
I looked at Jules.
Jules looked at me.
Then both of us started laughing.
Because Yzandra had somehow managed to turn dropping ice cream into a natural disaster.
Meanwhile Gael sat down on the porch.
Completely exhausted.
Then pointed at Azrael.
"Your son laughed at her."
Azrael immediately looked offended.
"I did not."
"You did."
"I smiled."
The room exploded.
Then Yzandra pointed at her brother.
"He betrayed me."
Azrael looked genuinely confused.
"You dropped three ice creams."
"You were supposed to support me."
The boy looked toward me.
Then toward Jules.
Then sighed.
Again.
At seven years old.
Then he said something that made all of us laugh.
"I tried."
A pause.
"She was impossible."
Even Yzandra laughed at that.
Because honestly?
She knew it was true.
That night, we were having dinner together at the dining table.
Jules had just finished telling me a story about one of her patients at the clinic while Yzandra was enthusiastically talking about how she almost caught a butterfly during recess. The conversation was loud, chaotic, and completely normal for our family.
Dinner itself was simple.
I had cooked grilled chicken, rice, soup, and a large serving of sautéed vegetables.
A large serving.
Which, looking back, was optimistic.
Because there was exactly one person in this house who willingly ate vegetables.
And that person was somehow the four-year-old.
Yzandra immediately spotted them.
"Vegetables!"
She sounded genuinely excited.
The child reached for them before anything else.
Meanwhile, sitting beside her, Azrael glanced at the vegetables once.
Then calmly reached for the chicken.
Immediately.
Without hesitation.
Without shame.
Without even pretending to consider the vegetables.
I watched him pile chicken onto his plate.
Then more chicken.
Then even more chicken.
The boy was acting like the vegetables personally offended him.
"Azrael."
I called.
The seven-year-old looked up.
"Yes, Mom?"
I pointed at the vegetables.
The boy looked at them.
Then looked back at me.
Then looked at the vegetables again.
Like he was seeing them for the first time.
"Those are vegetables."
I nodded.
"Very observant."
The boy looked pleased with himself.
Then immediately returned to eating chicken.
Jules started laughing.
Meanwhile Yzandra was happily stuffing vegetables into her mouth.
The contrast between my children was ridiculous.
One child willingly ate vegetables.
The other treated them like a threat.
"Kuya."
Yzandra said.
Azrael looked at her.
"Eat vegetables."
The boy looked offended.
"I don't like vegetables."
The little girl frowned.
"But they're good."
"No."
"They are."
"No."
"They make you strong."
Azrael immediately pointed at his chicken.
"This makes me strong."
The room exploded with laughter.
Even Jules had to put her fork down.
Then Yzandra looked toward me.
"Mom."
"Yes?"
"Why doesn't Kuya eat vegetables?"
I immediately pointed at Azrael.
"Because he inherited it from me."
The boy looked proud.
Way too proud.
Meanwhile Jules looked disappointed.
Not surprised.
Just disappointed.
"Unfortunately," she said.
I laughed.
Because it was true.
Azrael got the "I hate vegetables" trait entirely from me.
Yzandra worshipped vegetables.
Meanwhile Azrael and I would gladly survive on chicken, rice, and pure stubbornness.
The boy had been refusing vegetables since he was old enough to chew.
When he was three years old, he once cried because a pea touched his mashed potatoes.
A single pea.
One.
Tiny.
Pea.
The memory still made Jules laugh.
Then Yzandra suddenly scooped vegetables onto Azrael's plate.
The boy froze.
Immediately.
Then he slowly looked down.
Then at his sister.
Then at me.
Like he was asking if this was legal.
"Yza."
He said.
Very calmly.
Too calmly.
"Remove that."
"No."
The room got louder.
Then Azrael looked toward Jules.
"Mama."
Jules immediately shook her head.
"No."
The boy looked betrayed.
Then he looked toward me.
"Mom."
I shrugged.
"Good luck."
The child sighed.
A very dramatic sigh.
Then carefully picked up one tiny piece of vegetable with his fork.
The smallest piece possible.
A piece so small it was practically microscopic.
Then he put it in his mouth.
The entire family watched.
The boy chewed.
Slowly.
Like he was being tortured.
Then he swallowed.
The room became quiet.
Yzandra looked excited.
"Well?"
Azrael thought for a moment.
Then pointed at the chicken.
"Still better."
The room exploded.
Yzandra immediately groaned.
Jules laughed.
I laughed.
Even Azrael laughed.
Then the boy returned to eating chicken while Yzandra happily finished almost all the vegetables herself.
Watching them sit beside each other, arguing about vegetables while stealing food from each other's plates, I couldn't help smiling.
They were completely different.
One loved books.
The other loved chaos.
One hated vegetables.
The other practically worshipped them.
One was quiet.
The other never stopped talking.
But despite all of that, they adored each other.
And honestly?
That mattered a lot more than whether Azrael ate his vegetables.
The next day started peacefully.
Which should have been my first warning sign.
Nothing ever stayed peaceful for long in this family.
Especially when Sedii was involved.
Around ten in the morning, I heard a car pull into our driveway.
I was in the kitchen preparing snacks while Jules was getting ready for work at the clinic.
Azrael was in the living room reading.
Again.
Meanwhile Yzandra was currently trying to convince a stuffed rabbit that it needed to attend school.
The rabbit didn't seem interested.
Then I heard a familiar voice outside.
A very loud familiar voice.
"MY FAVORITE CHILDREN!"
I immediately sighed.
"Sedii."
Jules laughed from the hallway.
Azrael looked up from his book.
Meanwhile Yzandra screamed.
"TITO SEDII!"
Then she immediately ran toward the front door.
I barely managed to stop her from opening it before I did.
The moment the door opened, Sedii walked inside wearing sunglasses.
Indoors.
Like a menace.
The man had just returned from the European leg of his concert tour.
Being one of the biggest local and international artists apparently wasn't enough.
He also had to be dramatic.
Then I noticed something.
Or rather—
Several things.
A lot of things.
An alarming amount of things.
Because behind Sedii stood three people carrying boxes.
Actual boxes.
Plural.
I stared.
Then looked at Sedii.
Then looked back at the boxes.
Then back at Sedii.
"What did you do?"
I asked.
The man smiled.
A dangerous smile.
The kind that usually cost money.
A lot of money.
Then he pointed toward the boxes.
"I brought gifts."
The room immediately exploded.
Yzandra screamed.
Azrael immediately stood up.
Even Jules looked concerned.
Not excited.
Concerned.
Because everyone knew Sedii's definition of gifts was different from everyone else's.
The first box opened.
Inside were toys.
So many toys.
An unreasonable amount of toys.
Dolls.
Stuffed animals.
Building blocks.
Toy animals.
Art supplies.
Puzzles.
Things that made noise.
Things that should never have been invented.
Yzandra looked like she'd just discovered heaven.
The child was practically vibrating.
Then Sedii crouched down.
Opened his arms dramatically.
And announced—
"For my favorite niece."
The little girl immediately tackled him.
Nearly knocking him over.
Then he laughed.
And handed her a giant stuffed panda.
The thing was almost the same size as her.
"His name is Pancake."
Sedii informed her.
The child accepted this information immediately.
Of course she did.
Then another box opened.
And another.
And another.
At some point, I stopped counting.
Meanwhile Azrael quietly stood nearby.
Watching.
Patiently.
Because unlike his sister, he understood that Sedii always had something for him too.
Then Sedii looked toward him.
Pointed dramatically.
And smiled.
"Now."
A pause.
"For my favorite nephew."
Yzandra immediately gasped.
"I'm your favorite."
Sedii pointed at Azrael.
"He's my favorite nephew."
Then pointed at her.
"You're my favorite niece."
The child accepted this explanation immediately.
Then returned to her toys.
Meanwhile Sedii opened another box.
Books.
So many books.
The moment Azrael saw them, his eyes lit up.
Immediately.
Which somehow made him look even younger.
The box was filled with novels.
History books.
Science books.
Adventure books.
Children's classics.
Illustrated encyclopedias.
Books I was pretty sure a seven-year-old wasn't supposed to be interested in.
Yet somehow my son was.
Then Sedii pulled one out.
"Found this in Paris."
Another.
"Bought this one in Amsterdam."
Another.
"This one is from Germany."
Another.
"This one reminded me of you."
Azrael looked completely overwhelmed.
The boy didn't even know where to start.
Then Sedii handed him a hardcover book.
The nicest one in the box.
Azrael carefully took it.
Like it was made of glass.
Then looked up at Sedii.
"Thank you, Tito."
Very polite.
Very Azrael.
Then Sedii immediately messed up his hair.
Because of course he did.
An hour later, our living room looked like a toy store and a bookstore had collided.
Yzandra was buried beneath gifts.
Azrael was already reading one of the books.
Actually reading.
Not looking at pictures.
Reading.
The child hadn't even owned it for thirty minutes.
Then Jules sat beside Sedii.
"How was Europe?"
The man immediately groaned.
Then launched into a dramatic story.
Apparently he lost a suitcase.
Found the suitcase.
Lost it again.
Found it again.
Almost missed a flight.
Got recognized in public.
Got chased by fans.
Ate something he couldn't pronounce.
And somehow survived all of it.
The story lasted twenty minutes.
Half of it was probably exaggerated.
Nobody cared.
Then I looked around.
At Sedii.
At Jules.
At Azrael reading.
At Yzandra naming every single stuffed animal she received.
At the ridiculous amount of gifts scattered across my house.
And honestly?
It felt normal.
Completely normal.
Because that was just how Sedii loved people.
Loudly.
Excessively.
And usually with enough gifts to cause storage problems.
I was already mentally preparing a speech about how the children did not need any more presents.
Then I noticed another unopened box.
A very large box.
I slowly looked toward Sedii.
The man immediately looked away.
Which meant there was definitely a problem.
And knowing Sedii?
The problem was probably alive.
The moment I noticed the unopened box, I knew something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Because I knew Sedii.
Unfortunately.
And every time Sedii looked guilty, it usually involved either an animal, a terrible idea, or both.
I slowly pointed at the box.
"What is that?"
Immediately, Sedii looked anywhere except at me.
The man looked at the ceiling.
Then at the floor.
Then at Jules.
Then at Azrael.
Then at Yzandra.
Then back at the ceiling.
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
Meanwhile Jules had already noticed too.
Then she narrowed her eyes.
"Sedii."
The man smiled nervously.
Never a good sign.
"What?"
I pointed again.
"The box."
A pause.
"Open it."
The room immediately became interested.
Even Azrael looked up from his book.
Meanwhile Yzandra abandoned her mountain of toys.
Because whatever was inside the mystery box was obviously more interesting.
Then Sedii sighed dramatically.
The sigh of a man who knew he was about to get yelled at.
Then he slowly stood up.
Walked toward the box.
And opened it.
The moment the lid came off—
Something moved.
I immediately closed my eyes.
Because of course something moved.
Of course it did.
Why wouldn't it?
Then Yzandra screamed.
Not a scared scream.
An excited scream.
The dangerous kind.
Then I opened my eyes.
And immediately saw a puppy.
A tiny puppy.
A very fluffy puppy.
The animal looked completely confused.
Honestly?
Same.
The room exploded.
Yzandra immediately ran toward it.
Azrael followed.
Even Jules stood up.
Meanwhile I stared at Sedii.
"Explain."
The man immediately pointed at the puppy.
"I found him."
Of course he did.
Then he continued.
"He was abandoned."
Jules immediately softened.
Because Jules was physically incapable of resisting abandoned animals.
Then Sedii pointed dramatically.
"And I couldn't leave him."
I looked at my wife.
My wife looked at the puppy.
The battle was already lost.
I knew it.
Sedii knew it.
Jules knew it.
The puppy definitely knew it.
Then Yzandra picked the animal up.
Carefully.
Surprisingly carefully.
The little girl immediately looked at me.
"Mom."
No.
Absolutely not.
I already knew where this was going.
"Mom."
"No."
"Mom."
"No."
The child gasped.
The puppy looked at me.
The traitor.
Then Jules looked at me.
Another traitor.
Then Azrael quietly joined the attack.
Which rarely happened.
Making it significantly more dangerous.
The boy looked at me and said—
"He doesn't have a home."
I immediately pointed at Sedii.
"He has a home."
The room became quiet.
Then everyone looked at Sedii.
Then Sedii pointed at himself.
"What?"
I smiled.
Very calmly.
"Congratulations."
A pause.
"You're a father."
The room exploded.
Then Sedii looked horrified.
Actually horrified.
"NO."
The room got louder.
Then Yzandra hugged the puppy tighter.
The animal immediately licked her face.
The little girl laughed.
Azrael smiled.
Jules smiled.
I was surrounded by traitors.
Every single one of them.
Then Sedii looked at me.
"Sloane."
"No."
"Please."
"No."
"It can stay here."
"No."
"We have a yard."
"No."
"Jules likes dogs."
I looked at my wife.
The woman immediately looked away.
Guilty.
Very guilty.
Then Azrael quietly spoke.
"Mom."
Dangerous.
The boy rarely used that voice.
The reasonable voice.
The voice that somehow always worked.
"We can take care of him."
I looked at my son.
Then at my daughter.
Then at the puppy.
Then at Jules.
Then at Sedii.
Then back at the puppy.
The tiny animal wagged its tail.
I hated that.
Then Yzandra smiled.
The exact same smile I used when I wanted something from Jules.
The exact same smile that always worked.
Unfortunately.
Then she asked—
"Can we keep him?"
The room became silent.
Everyone waiting.
Everyone watching.
Then I sighed.
A very long sigh.
The sigh of a woman who knew she had already lost.
Then Yzandra immediately screamed before I even answered.
Because apparently my face had already betrayed me.
The room exploded.
The puppy stayed.
Of course it did.
And somewhere beside me, Sedii looked unbelievably proud of himself.
I genuinely considered suing him.