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“Don’t you dare encourage her.”

“I have said nothing.”

“You have that look.”

“What look?”

“The one you get when someone asks for a discount on roses.”

I sigh.

“That man insulted your craftsmanship.”

“Vidar.”

“Very well.”

I kneel beside our daughter.

“Perhaps we should consider mercy.”

She frowns.

“What’s mercy?”

I smile.

“Something your mother taught me.”

She considers this.

“Is it better than revenge?”

“Considerably.”

“Does it involve cookies?”

“Occasionally.”

Her expression brightens.

“Okay!”

Together, we carefully relocate the ants away from her picnic blanket. Then I retrieve another cookie from the kitchen.

“Thank you, Papa.”

“You are most welcome, little warrior.”

She kisses my cheek and runs off.

Wren approaches, laughing.

“Look at you. Teaching mercy instead of vengeance.”

“I am an excellent father.”

“Is that so?”