Zayne knew exactly where his daughter was.
The missing macarons from the top shelf (that he'd specifically hidden there, thinking she couldn't reach) were the first clue. The small footprints on the kitchen counter were the second. The suspicious silence from the living room was the third.
He found Lizzie frozen mid-climb on the bookshelf, one hand reaching for the macaron box on top, posed like a statue.
"Elizabeth Li," Zayne said sternly, crossing his arms. "What are you doing?"
Lizzie didn't move. Didn't even blink. Just stayed perfectly still.
"I can see you."
Still nothing. Complete statue mode.
"Lizzie, I'm a doctor. I can literally see you breathing."
A tiny giggle escaped. Then she bolted—enhanced speed carrying her across the room faster than a normal five-year-old should move, diving behind the couch.
Zayne sighed and followed. Found her crouched there with the macaron box, hazel-green eyes wide and innocent.
"Hi Papa," she said sweetly. "I'm not doing anything wrong."
"You're climbing furniture. Again. We talked about this."
"But the macarons were UP THERE." She pointed at the bookshelf like this explained everything. "I HAD to climb."
"You could have asked—"
"You would say no."
"Exactly. Because you already had three macarons today."
"But Papa, they're so GOOD—"
Zayne scooped her up despite her protests, settling her on his hip. "Young ladies don't climb bookshelves like monkeys."
"Mama climbs trees."
"Your mama is—" He paused. Because she was right. Nana absolutely climbed trees. Regularly. "Your mama is an adult who makes questionable decisions."
"So when I'm an adult I can climb?"
"When you're an adult you can make your own questionable decisions, yes."
"YAY!"
The front door opened. Nana's voice: "I'M HOME! And I brought APPLES!"
Zayne turned to see his wife entering with leaves tangled in her hair, dirt on her clothes, and a basket full of apples.
Lizzie pointed. "See? Mama climbs trees."
"Your mama is a menace," Zayne said fondly.
"I HEARD THAT!" Nana called from the kitchen. "And I'm not a menace! I'm RESOURCEFUL! I saw apple trees and thought 'we should make jam' so I climbed up and picked the best ones!"
She appeared in the living room doorway, already eating an apple, basket set on the floor, pulling up a recipe on her phone.
"How do you make apple jam? Is it hard? We can do it together!"
Zayne looked at his wife sitting on the floor surrounded by apples, covered in leaves and dirt, researching recipes with excessive enthusiasm.
Then at his daughter, who'd somehow stolen two macarons while he was distracted and was eating them triumphantly.
"How did I end up with two of you?" he asked the universe.
"You MARRIED Mama," Lizzie said matter-of-factly. "Grandma says you knew what you were getting into."
"Your grandmother is correct and also a traitor for taking your mother's side—"
"APPLE JAM TIME!" Nana announced. "Everyone to the kitchen! Family cooking project!"
"Cooking" was a generous term for what happened next.
Zayne actually cooked—peeling apples, measuring ingredients, following the recipe with medical precision.
Nana and Lizzie "helped" by:
1. Eating approximately half the apples
2. Having an apple-throwing contest (Zayne stopped this immediately)
3. Climbing onto the counter to "supervise"
4. Deciding they needed to climb the apple tree AGAIN to get "better apples"
5. Actually climbing the tree while Zayne yelled from below
"NANA! LIZZIE! GET DOWN FROM THERE!"
"We're getting the GOOD apples!" Lizzie shouted from a high branch. "The ones up here are prettier!"
"You already have plenty of apples—"
"But these ones are SPECIAL!"
Nana was even higher up, hanging from a branch like it was nothing, enhanced strength making tree-climbing effortless. "She's right, Zayne! These are way better!"
"You're going to fall—"
"I NEVER fall!"
"MAMA NEVER FALLS!" Lizzie echoed.
Zayne stood at the base of the tree, ice forming around his hands in case he needed to catch them, wondering how his life had become this.
*I'm a respected cardiologist. I've saved hundreds of lives. Why am I standing under a tree yelling at my wife and daughter about apple quality?*
They climbed down eventually (after picking way too many apples) and returned to the kitchen where Zayne had managed to make actual jam.
"This is AMAZING!" Nana declared, tasting it. "We're so good at cooking!"
"I cooked it—"
"WE supervised!"
"You climbed a tree—"
"Moral support!"
Lizzie nodded seriously. "Very important, Papa. You need moral support to cook."
Zayne gave up arguing and just let them believe they'd contributed.
Lizzie had a friend.
Not a human friend. A squirrel.
She'd named it Mr. Whiskers (despite Zayne's protests that they didn't know the squirrel's gender) and fed it regularly from her secret stash of nuts.
"Mr. Whiskers! Look!" Lizzie held up a piece of apple. "Jam apples! They're special!"
The squirrel chittered and took the apple carefully.
"See, Papa? Mr. Whiskers likes it!"
Zayne watched his daughter communicate with wildlife. "Lizzie, squirrels aren't really—they're not pets—"
"Mr. Whiskers is my FRIEND."
"Friends don't usually live in trees—"
"MAMA lives in trees sometimes!"
"Your mama visits trees. Temporarily. She doesn't—" He paused. "Actually, she does spend a concerning amount of time in trees."
Nana was currently in said tree, having climbed back up "just to check something."
"What exactly are you checking?" Zayne called up.
"The view! It's nice up here!"
"You can see the view from the GROUND—"
"Not the same!"
Lizzie giggled and climbed up to join her. Enhanced strength and flexibility making it easy despite being only five.
"LIZZIE—"
"I'm helping Mama check the view!"
Zayne stood at the base of the tree. Again. Watching his wife and daughter sit on branches like it was perfectly normal.
*She gets it from you,* his mother's voice echoed in his head. *The chaos. The climbing. The complete disregard for normal safety protocols.*
*I know,* Zayne thought back. *I'm aware. I'm living it.*
But he was smiling. Because they were happy. Safe. His.
Chaotic tornado family included.
Bedtime was... complicated.
Lizzie slept like a tornado. Arms and legs everywhere. Kicking. Rolling. Somehow ending up upside down by morning.
Exactly like Nana.
Zayne had tried moving to the guest room. Just for ONE peaceful night of sleep without getting kicked.
He'd woken up at 3 AM to find both Nana and Lizzie had followed him. Claimed the space. Lizzie sprawled on top of him like a cat. Nana sleeping sideways across the bed.
"How did you even—I locked the door—"
"Enhanced hearing," Nana mumbled without waking. "Heard you leave. Followed."
"I just wanted to sleep without bruises—"
"Too bad. You're ours. No escaping."
So now he was back in the master bedroom, positioned carefully in the middle, with Lizzie using him as a pillow (lying completely on top of his chest) and Nana sprawled sideways, one leg thrown over his, one arm flung across both of them.
He couldn't move. Could barely breathe. Was definitely going to have bruises from the inevitable kicking.
But listening to them breathe—Lizzie's soft snores, Nana's steady rhythm—Zayne couldn't bring himself to mind.
*This is my life now. Climbing trees. Making apple jam. Getting kicked in my sleep by two enhanced females who think I'm a mattress.*
*And I wouldn't change a single thing.*
Lizzie shifted, somehow getting MORE on top of him. Her little hand fisted in his shirt.
"Love you, Papa," she mumbled in her sleep.
Zayne's heart melted completely. "Love you too, sweetheart."
Nana stirred. "Love you both. Now go to sleep before Lizzie kicks you."
"She's already kicking me—"
Right on cue, Lizzie's foot connected with his ribs.
"See?"
"I see. This is my life now."
"Could be worse."
"How?"
"Could have two kids."
"Don't even THINK about it—"
"Too late. Already thinking about it."
"NANA—"
She laughed and kissed his shoulder. "Go to sleep, Dr. Li. Your tornado family loves you."
"My tornado family is going to kill me with affection and kicks—"
But he was smiling. Holding his girls. Living the chaotic, exhausting, *perfect* life they'd built together.
Day 2,220.
Five years of marriage. Five years of parenthood. Five years of chaos.
And somehow, still the best decision he'd ever made.
Even with the tree climbing. And the tornado sleeping. And the squirrel friendship.
Especially because of those things.
This is family. This is home. This is everything.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.