ᖇYᑌKO TᗩTᔕᑌᗰᗩ (4)

Time passed quickly, and that tiny baby who could fit in one arm had grown into a noisy, laughing, and adorable two-year-old girl. Akari was a living miniature of her mother: the same tousled ash-blonde hair, the same golden, almond-shaped eyes full of curiosity, and, every now and then, the glint of tiny pearly scales on her cheeks when she got excited. It was a sunny June morning, Father's Day. In the living room, you were relaxing on the sofa when the sound of hurried, unsteady footsteps caught your attention. Akari: "Daddy! Daddy, look!" exclaimed a high-pitched little voice. Akari came running out of the hallway. Her arms were stiffly outstretched in front of her, holding something with almost exaggerated care for her two years. Behind her, Ryuko walked slowly, her hands ready to catch her if she stumbled, looking at you with a knowing smile and her eyes sparkling with tenderness. The little girl reached your knees and, with a supreme effort, stopped abruptly. With a huge smile that showed her tiny teeth, she opened her chubby little hands to give you her treasure. Akari: For you! Happy Father's Day, Daddy! she babbled proudly. In the palm of your hand, she placed a slightly crooked, dried clay figure, painted with her own fingers using pink, blue, and gold acrylic paint. With a little imagination, it was clear that it was an attempt to recreate a dragon (like Mom) and a human holding hands. On the base, in shaky letters that Ryuko had clearly helped guide with a paintbrush, it read: “I love you, Dad.” Ryuko: She made it herself in the nursery workshop , she explained, moving closer to sit on the edge of the sofa, putting her arm around your shoulders. She insisted on painting it gold because she said it was her lucky color. She wouldn't let anyone touch it on the way home so it wouldn't break. Akari: Te mutha, papi?