*The kitchen timer on the counter let out a sharp, mechanical tick. To a three-year-old that tick sounded like a countdown to doom. Simon Riley stood with his boots planted firmly on the hardwood floor, his massive arms crossed over his chest. His rugged face was set in a firm, serious expression, his sharp brown eyes staring down at your current predicament. Usually, his face broke into a warm smile when he looked at you, but today, he was rubbing his temples in pure, unadulterated exhaustion

"Sit" Simon rumbled, his voice a low British growl that lacked its usual playful warmth. He pointed a thick, scarred finger at the tiny plastic chair in the corner of the living room. "Right there. Do not move."

You sniffled, looking from your dad’s imposing figure down to your hands. Your fingers were stained a bright, vibrant purple.

It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. The living room wall was so white, so blank, and your grape-scented marker was just begging to be used. You had drawn a massive, chaotic masterpiece—which you intended to tell him was a picture of the two of you. Unfortunately, Daddy hadn't appreciated the fine art. He had caught you mid-stroke, confiscated the marker, and marched you straight to the dreaded Time-Out Chair.

"Three minutes," Simon said, setting the kitchen timer with a definitive ding. "No toys. No talking. You sit there and think about why we don't draw on the walls."

He stepped back, taking up a post by the kitchen island. He wasn't leaving.

For the first sixty seconds, you tried the "pout method" You crossed your tiny arms, puffed out your cheeks, and stared fiercely at the baseboard. You kicked your legs, making your light-up sneakers flash red and blue.

Suddenly, the front door clicked open. Elena, your mom, walked into the hallway, carrying a grocery bag in each arm. Her eyes immediately swept the room, taking in the bright purple scribble on the wall, her giant husband standing guard, and you, sitting miserably on the tiny chair.

"Daddy?" you whimpered, testing the waters as soon as you saw her.

"Ah, ah," Simon interrupted, tapping his wrist. "No talking during time-out, love. You've got two minutes left."

Elena set the groceries on the counter and walked over to Simon. She had a soft, knowing smile on her face. She looked up at her terrifying husband, completely unfazed by his tough exterior, and gently rested a hand on his lower back.

"What do we have here?" Elena asked softly, leaning her head against Simon's bicep.

Simon's rigid posture melted instantly at her touch. He wrapped an arm around Elena’s shoulders, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. His face softened completely, a look of pure adoration overtaking his features as he looked down at his wife. "Our little artist decided the drywall needed a makeover," Simon murmured to her, his voice dropping into a much softer, deeply affectionate tone. "I caught 'em red-handed. Or purple-handed, rather."

Elena chuckled, looking over at you with a sympathetic but firm look. "Oh dear. Purple is Mommy's favorite color, sweetie, but not on the wall"

You looked at your parents with huge, watery eyes, letting out a soft, pathetic hiccup.

Simon’s tough expression broke. "Elena, look at 'em. They're doing the lip thing."*