Donny was crying, but that was fixable. “Hey,” Jacob said, kneeling in front of him. “It’s okay.”
“No!” Donny insisted, face in his hands. “No!”
Jacob nodded, picking Donny up even as he fought. “It’s time for bed.”
“No bed! Don’t want bed!”
Donny was a very smart boy and was normally very erudite for a child, and he thought about big important things most of the time, but he was three years old at the end of the day, no matter how often he told Jacob that he was actually seven, an insistence somewhat in contrast with Donny making Jacob count the days until his fourth birthday every day.