Page 118 of Scars and Crowns

"Mister!" Sara's voice echoes down the corridor, bright enough to make me smile before I've even reached her room. "I'm ready!"

"I'll be there in a second, Princess." I set the council file I'd been pretending to read onto the table and head toward her room, already wondering whether she's dressed as some storybook princess or a doctor or perhaps the astronaut she declared she wanted to become last Tuesday.

I push the door open.

Then stop.

Completely.

Sara is standing in the middle of the room with her hands planted proudly on her hips.

She's wearing a cream Jodhpuri suit stitched perfectly to her tiny frame, delicate gold embroidery catching the morning light along the collar and cuffs. She looks impossibly small. Impossibly regal. Like one of the old royal portraits somehow wandered out of its frame and learned how to grin.

It's also . . . not remotely a superhero costume.

I blink once. Then twice. "Princess . . . " I crouch until we're eye level. "You look beautiful."

Her smile grows even wider.

"But . . . " I glance toward Anamika, who's standing quietly near the wardrobe, arms folded loosely, watching both of us with an expression she's making absolutely no effort to hide anymore. There's something almost emotional in it. Like she's been waiting for this moment all week. "I thought today was hero day."

"It is." Sara nods confidently. "I'm my hero."

I frown slightly.

"No . . . " She giggles. "I'm wearing my hero." That doesn't help at all.

I look down at the tiny sherwani again, trying to solve whatever puzzle she's clearly already solved hours ago.

"I'm afraid I’m confused, Princess."

"I know." She says it with complete certainty. Then she walks closer. Very close. Close enough that she reaches both tiny hands up and cups my face. The gesture steals the breath right out of me. I've felt these hands on my cheeks before. Then, without warning, I realize why it feels so familiar.

Because Anamika does this. Every time she wants me to really listen. Every time something matters. Sara has copied her without either of them ever noticing. My heart does something strange inside my chest.

She studies my face with enormous seriousness. Then leans forward. A tiny kiss lands softly against my cheek.

Warm.

Quick.

Certain.

When she pulls back, she keeps holding my face. Her little thumbs rest just beneath my eyes. "You're my hero."

Four words. That's all. Four tiny words. I don't think anyone has ever said anything to me that has carried this much weight. "You made my Mumma smile again." Her voice is quiet now.

Careful. Like she's explaining something obvious.

"You bring her flowers too." She starts counting on her fingers. "You bring me flowers every morning."

"Every single morning. You never forgot. Not even once."

"You always come when I call."

"You always play."

"You let me colour your tattoos."