In the early morning, the first ray of sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtain and landed on the face of the sleeping person on the big bed.
Sophie Foster frowned and raised her hand to shield herself, but the light was still glaring, making her nose itch. She rubbed her nose and murmured hazily, "Uncle." The man, sleeping with his eyes closed, responded and tightened his arm to draw the girl resting on it into his embrace.
They slept late last night, and it was rare for Nicholas Croft to have overslept past his usual work hours.
Sophie Foster's little face was pressed against his chest, her lips slightly parted, emitting soft snores; the scene was so beautiful that even the sunlight slipping through the curtain seemed to quietly shift its place.
When both woke up, it was nearly ten. Nicholas Croft leaned back against the bedhead and lit a cigarette for himself, while Sophie Foster rested on his arm, idly playing with the small protrusion on his chest.
