Easter brunch was already in full swing—ham in the oven, pastel eggs everywhere, and my grandma yelling at people to “get out of her kitchen if you’re not stirring something.”

Then Roman walked in.

He’s five. And he was dressed head to toe like a scuba diver.

Wetsuit. Flippers. A snorkel taped to a pair of swimming goggles. He even had a soda bottle spray-painted silver strapped to his back like an oxygen tank.

At first, we all just kinda stared at him like… what?

Then my uncle burst out laughing. And just like that, the whole room erupted. People were crying. Someone choked on a dinner roll.

My aunt had to sit down because she was laughing so hard she got dizzy.

Turns out Roman thought there was gonna be a “deep sea egg hunt” because someone—ahem, probably my brother

—jokingly told him the Easter Bunny was hiding eggs in the fish pond this year.

And he took it seriously.

But what we didn’t expect was how his little “scuba diving mission” would unfold, or how it would change the whole mood of our gathering.

Roman, with his oversized flippers slapping against the floor and the goggle straps digging into his little face,

marched straight to the backyard like he was on a covert mission. His tiny legs moved with determination as he waddled past

the adults, completely oblivious to the laughter that followed in his wake. I could hear him muttering under his breath,

probably preparing himself for what he was sure was going to be the most important egg hunt of his young life.

I followed him out, shaking my head but amused. “Roman,” I called, “where do you think the fish eggs are hidden?”

He turned, face serious. “In the pond, of course. Duh.”

I smiled and nodded. “Alright, buddy. Let’s see what you find.” I knew the pond was a bit of a stretch—mostly filled with lily

pads and some goldfish, not exactly a hot spot for Easter eggs, but Roman was nothing if not determined.

We reached the pond, and Roman immediately dropped to his knees, peering into the water, as though expecting to spot some eggs

glimmering beneath the surface. It was adorable, but it also made me think about how easy it was for him to be so sure of the world

—so confident that everything would turn out just as he imagined.

Suddenly, Roman’s face lit up. “I found one!” he shouted, pointing toward the water. “It’s sparkling!”

I squinted and then laughed—he had indeed spotted something. Not an Easter egg, of course, but a shiny stone resting on the bottom

of the pond, reflecting the sunlight. Without hesitation, Roman reached in and tried to grab it. His little arms flailed in the water, trying to get hold of the stone.

“Hold on, Roman!” I called, rushing over. But just as I was about to help him, he yanked back, his face filled with triumph. In his hands

was not just the shiny stone, but an old, worn key.

“Look! It’s an egg key!” Roman yelled, holding it up like he had just discovered a treasure chest.

I blinked, a little confused but also intrigued. I had no idea what kind of key he was holding, but I wasn’t about to burst his bubble.

“Yeah, Roman, that’s a good find. A real key to the secret egg treasure.”

Roman beamed. “I’m gonna open the secret egg vault! I’m gonna be the first one!”

At this point, I could see some of the other family members wandering out into the yard to join in on the fun.

They’d caught wind of Roman’s “scuba diving adventure,” and now everyone was curious about what he had found.