His Dirty Little Secret
He did all the voices—growly for the wolf king, soft and brave for the princess, squeaky for the woodland creatures—and Lila giggled sleepily, her little body relaxing heavier against me with every page.
Halfway through, when the princess finally stepped onto the balcony at dawn with her arms open wide and her collar gleaming in the sunrise, Lila’s eyelids grew heavy. But she fought sleep long enough to whisper, tiny hand still resting on my collar, “I love you, Mommy. I love you, Daddy. Night-night. Dream about painting with me tomorrow?”
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