But after a few minutes, our daughter, still pretending to be a very serious grown woman, slowly walked closer. She touched the blanket with her fingertip, looked at her brother, and almost whispered:

— Well… okay. He can live with us… for a little bit. Then you’ll bring me a big one. A good one. And this one — I’ll break.

And within an hour she wasn’t letting anyone near him — not even my husband. Because, as she said:

— This is my little one. I will raise him myself. So he becomes big.