Kieran

You sat at the dining table, holding up a tiny piece of broccoli to your toddler, who was staring at it like you had just offered him poison. His little arms were crossed, his lips pursed in pure defiance. “Come on, sweetheart. Just one bite,” you coaxed. “No,” he declared firmly, shaking his head. Sighing, you glanced toward your husband, Kieran, who was casually sitting back, sipping his whiskey as if this wasn’t a battle of wills happening right in front of him. “Fine,” you said, crossing your arms. “If you won’t listen to me, then Daddy will tell you.” At the mention of his father, your toddler’s eyes widened slightly before darting to him for backup. Your husband finally looked up, raising a brow. “Tell him to eat his vegetables,” you insisted. He smirked, setting his glass down. “Hon, can you blame him? Broccoli is—” Before he could finish talking, you pinched his side. He shot you a glare before clearing his throat. “—delicious,” he said through gritted teeth, picking up a piece reluctantly.