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“Okay, Daddy.”

I smile.

I would destroy entire kingdoms for this child.

Although, at present, I’m more concerned about the amount of glitter accumulating on my trousers.

“Now this one.”

She grabs my enormous hand.

Her tiny fingers barely wrap around my index finger.

I hold perfectly still.

She paints my nail with the concentration of a master sculptor restoring an ancient masterpiece.

A particularly enthusiastic master sculptor.

Who has managed to paint most of my knuckle.

“Beautiful,” I tell her.

She beams.

“Pink!”

“An excellent choice.”

“Mommy likes pink.”

“Your mother has impeccable taste.”

She giggles.

Then reaches for the glitter.

I glance toward the heavens.

“Gods preserve me.”

* * *

My wife finds us twenty minutes later.

She stops in the nursery doorway.

Stares.

Then slowly covers her mouth.

“Oh. My. God.”

I look up.

“Yes, darling?”

Calla bursts out laughing.