Milton was never one to make a fuss.

Perhaps another man would have reacted differently at little Damien’s birth. The doctors certainly seemed rather bemused as they examined his adorable little cloven hooves, but Milton didn’t believe in overreaction.

He complemented his wife for her ingenuity in using salt and pepper cozzies as booties and proudly displayed photos to his co-workers in the accounting department.

He enjoyed spending time with his wife as they learned the subtleties of hoof care at the local riding school. She had seemed vaguely distant over the preceding year, but then she had started a bee-keeping course and Milton understood how such things could occupy the feminine mind.

He had wondered faintly at the long dark robes that she always wore to class, but knew better than to question the peculiarities of fashion.

Some people mistook Milton’s philosophical attitude towards life as apathy, but the truth is that he was a naturally cautious man.

In those first few months of the clip-clopping of tiny feet, he quietly removed all known or suspected sources of ionising radiation from the house, upped his wife’s folate levels and called up his gossipy aunt Gladys to find out if there were any family medical curiosities that he hadn’t heard about.

It is likely that another man would have reacted differently when his wife’s friend from beekeeping kept turning up at little Damien’s birthday parties and school events.

But Milton just made casual smalltalk about the weather and economy with the tall, dark man. He never once mentioned the unusual colour of his eyes or that strange, smoky smell.

Milton remained perfectly calm when Damien’s second-grade teacher called him in hysterics after she had caught Damien levitating his friends.

Milton explained that he was just playing.

He ignored the crayon pentagrams and cheerfully told his son to tidy up after sacrificing another teddy.

Another man certainly would have reacted differently when the Angel of the Lord turned up at his front door.

Milton just put some leftovers on under a low heat, carefully setting the timer, before driving the Captain of the Lord’s Host to his wife’s Beekeeping class.

The Archangel had insisted, after all

Personally, I would have reacted differently while sitting in that car, overhearing the spiritual cataclysm of the ages occurring nearby.

Milton just completed some paperwork, whistling contentedly.

As the hours passed, he felt increasingly pleased with himself for remembering to set the oven timer so that any survivors would have a pleasant dinner waiting for them.

Milton was never one to make fuss.

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