All those years in school, all the fancy degrees, all the training in the world. And it took a preacher to save the day. Well, that figured. Zoe let out a huge cough, her little body shaking as the Lego landed halfway across the room, even as she began to cry. And like that, everyone woke up. "Zoe!," Rachel yelled, finally unfrozen, rushing to her daughter's side just as quickly as Micah did the same. Before she could pull the small, gasping, sobbing girl into her arms, Brian, still wearing that tiara and the matching jewelry, turned the child around, his hands to her face, doing a quick assessment, his eyes checking to see how she breathed. "Try eating a smaller one next time, hey, Zoe?," he said playfully, leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead. "Zoe, why?," Micah asked, kneeling beside his daughter, reaching out for her. "Why did you eat a Lego?" Like there was any good answer for that. Because I'm five, Daddy. Because I thought it was a good idea, Daddy. Because I don't know why, Daddy.
