I am ironing and Lokes is putting the girls to bed. There is a low murmur of voices, which ends with daddy going, “Why don’t you ask Mommy?”. Little feet patter and my four-year old appears.

“Mommy?” Eyes wide open. Not smiling. Hands behind her back. Very serious.

“Yes, Raeven?” I ask, pressing a sleeve.

“Why did you pick Daddy for our daddy?”

I stop, and carefully put the iron down. I kneel.

“Well…” I hold my dear sweet girl’s hands, stifling all impulses to smile.

Freeze it, woman. Hold it!

“Because I love him, baby,” I let slip a sincere smile.

She returns one. Or it was more a huge grin.

“Oh good, ‘coz we like him too,” she says, head nodding, eyes twinkling.


Lucky us.