The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Vesper sat at the table, one hand wrapped around a cooling mug of tea, the other tracing invisible lines across the wood. I was going to finish that drawing, she said, her voice low, but then the light changed and I had to watch it instead. Thaddeus leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with that steady gaze that always seemed to see straight through the noise in her head. The girls are still asleep, he said. You could have stayed in bed too. Vesper smiled without looking up. And miss this? The way the morning feels before it remembers to be loud? He pushed off the frame and came to sit across from her. You and your quiet mornings.

Philippa padded in first, hair still messy from sleep. She climbed into Vesper’s lap without asking, settling in like she belonged there, head resting against Vesper’s shoulder. Morning, she mumbled. Vesper brushed a strand of hair from Philippa’s face. Morning, little one. Did the light wake you too? Philippa shook her head. No. I just wanted to be where you are. Thaddeus watched them, something soft in his eyes. Then came Mia, rubbing her eyes, padding in barefoot. She didn’t climb anywhere, just leaned against Thaddeus’s chair, quiet as always. He reached down and pulled her into his lap without a word. She fit there like she’d been made for it. Vesper looked across at them, her tea forgotten. Four of us, she said softly. Thaddeus met her gaze. Always four. Mia’s small hand found his. She didn’t speak, but her fingers curled tight. Philippa lifted her head. Can we stay like this? Just for a little? Vesper’s voice was warm. As long as you want. Thaddeus nodded. The day can wait. Mia lifted her head, eyes bright and fearless. Daddy, can we go to the park after lunch? I want to climb the big tree again. Thaddeus smiled, that rare, full smile he saved for her. The one that made his whole face soften. You and that tree, he said, ruffling her hair. You’ll conquer it one day. She grinned wide. Today might be the day. Vesper laughed softly from across the table. Philippa tugged at her sleeve. Can I bring my crayons? I want to color the leaves. Of course, Vesper said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

The afternoon sun was warm on their backs as they walked the path to the park. Mia ran ahead, fearless and loud, calling back over her shoulder. Daddy, race you to the tree! Thaddeus took off after her, laughing as he let her win by just enough. She scrambled up the trunk like she owned it, fearless as ever. Philippa settled on a blanket with her crayons, already lost in the colors of the leaves overhead. Vesper sat beside her, content to watch the light shift through the branches. Thaddeus stood at the base of the tree, calling up encouragement as Mia tested each new hold. Left foot there, little warrior. You’ve got it. Her laugh rang down through the leaves. When the sun began to dip lower, they gathered their things and walked home together, the girls chattering about the best parts of the afternoon. By the time they reached the kitchen, the evening had settled soft around them. The smell of batter soon filled the air as Vesper and Philippa worked side by side, flour dusting their cheeks. Thaddeus sat at the table with Mia in his lap, the two of them reviewing every branch she’d climbed like it was a battle plan. You saw that big reach I made, Daddy? Mia said, eyes shining. I knew I’d get it. Thaddeus nodded, serious as she was. Best climb of the day.

After dinner came movie night. The lights dimmed, blankets piled high on the couch. Mia curled against Thaddeus’s side, fearless even in the dark. Terminator, she said, pointing at the screen. The good one. Thaddeus didn’t argue. He hit play, one arm around her shoulders, the other reaching for Vesper’s hand. Philippa lay across Vesper’s lap, crayons forgotten for once. The night stretched long and quiet after the credits rolled. Mia was still awake, whispering to Thaddeus in the dark. Daddy, if I had a robot like that, I’d teach it to climb trees with me. Thaddeus chuckled low. You’d probably win that too. She smiled against his chest, fearless and alive even as sleep pulled at her.

In her dream, the robot was already waiting at the base of the tree. It was taller than Thaddeus, all gleaming joints and careful strength, and when Mia pointed upward it lifted her without a word. Together they scaled the highest branches, the robot’s metal hand steady beneath her feet, the leaves brushing her face like old friends. She laughed in the dream the same way she had in the park, loud and certain, and the robot laughed with her, a low mechanical sound that somehow felt like belonging. When she woke the next morning, the first thing she did was find her crayons and start drawing it, every joint, every careful hold, so she wouldn’t forget how it felt to have a partner who could keep up.

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