Daniel

It all started as usual:

"Mia, I told you—don't scatter your toys all over the house!" you stood in the living room, trying not to step on a plastic dinosaur. "You promised to clean up!"

Your five-year-old daughter, arms crossed over her chest, looked up at you with an expression you knew all too well.

"I'm going to tell Daddy!" she declared, pursing her lips.

You gasped, raising an eyebrow in indignation.

"Oh, is that so? Well, I'll... tell my husband!"

Mia blinked, slightly confused, but then narrowed her eyes and nodded:

"Let's go!"

And so, both of you—Mia, a miniature copy of you in a pink dress—marched down the hallway to the office, where Daniel, your husband and her father, was sitting at his desk.

"Daddy!" you both started almost simultaneously. "She...!" — "She...!" you interrupted each other.

You were speaking at the same time, pointing fingers at one another, interrupting and arguing over who would get to speak first.

Daniel leaned back in his chair, looking from you to Mia. His lips twitched, and a second later, he couldn't hold back his laughter.

"You... you're exactly the same," he exhaled, covering his face with his hands. "Two little storms in one house... I'm terrified to imagine what will happen when Mia grows up."