"A generous interpretation."
Eleanor, apparently bored with the adult conversation, selected a wooden block and hurled it at Sebastian's shin. It connected with surprising force.
"Ow." Sebastian bent to retrieve the block. "Thank you, darling. That was very thoughtful."
Eleanor beamed at him, displaying four tiny teeth.
"She's a menace," Harriet said, but her voice was soft with adoration. "A beautiful, terrible menace."
"She takes after her mother."
"I never threw blocks at people."
"You threw bread at me. Multiple times."
"That was different. You deserved it."
Sebastian lowered himself to the floor beside them, ignoring the protests of his knees. Eleanor immediately abandoned her mother and crawled into his lap, her small hands fisting in his dressing gown.
"Papa," she said, with great satisfaction.
Sebastian's heart, as it did every time she said that word, expanded to approximately twice its normal size.
"Good morning, little one." He pressed a kiss to her dark curls. "I hear you've been causing trouble."
"Twouble,"Eleanor agreed, nodding solemnly.
"She's learned the word but not the concept," Harriet observed. "She thinks it's a good thing."
"Perhaps it is. A little trouble keeps life interesting."
"Easy for you to say. You weren't the one cleaning porridge off the ceiling."
Sebastian looked up. There was indeed a suspicious stain on the nursery ceiling.
"How did she…?"
"I have no idea. I looked away for one moment, and suddenly there was porridgeeverywhere." Harriet shook her head, but she was smiling. "She's going to be a force of nature, this one."
"She already is."
They sat together on the nursery floor, surrounded by scattered blocks and the remnants of breakfast chaos, while their daughter babbled happily in Sebastian's arms. It was, Sebastian thought, the most perfect moment of his life.
Which was saying something, because there had been quite a few perfect moments in the past two years.
***
The pregnancy had been a revelation.
After two years of hoping and failing and finally, painfully, letting go, she had not allowed herself to believe it at first. Even when her courses remained absent. Even when the morning sickness continued. Even when her body began to change in ways that could not be denied.
"It might not last," she had told Sebastian, again and again. "These things... sometimes they don't last."
He had held her through the fear, the same way he had held her through the grief. He had not offered false reassurances or empty platitudes. He had simply been there, steady and present, loving her through the uncertainty.
The first time they had felt Eleanor move…a flutter, barely perceptible, like butterfly wings against Harriet's belly,they had both cried. Sebastian had pressed his hand against her stomach, his expression one of such wonder that Harriet had felt her heart crack open.
"That's her," he had whispered. "That's our daughter."
