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“My bad, baby. Extra scoop of ice cream coming up.”

She ran impatiently out the door, her curls bouncing as she reached the truck, her eyes narrowing as she saw a bike on the drive, blocking our exit. I followed her gaze to see a boy of about seven years old, if that. He was inspecting his knee which was oozing with blood, having clearly fallen off his bike.

“Can you please move?” Summer asked, a cold tone to her voice. Nothing stood between her and ice cream. She was five and she was fucking relentless. I can’t imagine her in ten years.

“Summer, where are your manners?” I said sharply as she folded her arms in irritation. That’s right, my five-year-old does that. Folds her arms in irritation.

Pity me, won’t you?

“Hey kid, you alright?” I asked, crouching down to his height, noting the cut was deep.

“Yeah. Just a scrape,” he was gazing past me at my daughter, his eyes wide as though he were seeing an angel for the first time.

Not on my watch.

“Off you go then. Get up and get back on that bike,” I helped him up as he climbed on, his face etched in pain but a strong determination not to show it prevented it from staying on there for long.

“I’m Gabriel,” he threw over his shoulder to Summer who watched him leave with a strange expression on her face.

I had a feeling it was going to be a long fucking ten years.

THE END