Mother’s Day morning in the Crosby house was strangely quiet — too quiet. You woke expecting the usual thundering footsteps of four teenagers racing for the bathroom or arguing over who stole whose hoodie. Instead, the hall was silent, the air holding that suspicious kind of hush that meant a plot was unfolding.

Downstairs, Sidney paced in the kitchen like a man organizing a playoff strategy, whisper-coaching your kids as if they were lining up for a faceoff instead of a surprise.

“Okay, team,” he murmured, glancing up the stairs to make sure you weren’t coming. “Mom wakes up any moment. Positions. No chirping. No arguing. And please… don’t let the smoke alarm go off this time.”

Your oldest son elbowed him with a grin. “Dad, relax. We got this.”

“You said that last year,” Sidney whispered back, eyes narrowing at the memory of a nearly incinerated pancake. “Stick to the plan.”

When you finally came down, all four kids jumped out from behind the kitchen island — two boys, two girls, all taller than they used to be but still wearing the same proud, chaotic smiles that always melted you. They yelled, “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!” while holding a slightly lopsided breakfast tray, a pile of handmade cards, and flowers that definitely came from your own garden.

Sid walked up behind them, his voice softening the second he saw you. “Surprise,” he said, tugging you gently into his chest. “We wanted to do something right this year. Kids planned everything… I just tried to keep them from burning the house down.”

Your youngest daughter shoved a card at you, practically glowing. “Dad said you deserve the best. And also that you’re the real MVP.”

Sidney rolled his eyes, smiling. “I said she’s one of the MVPs. I’m still allowed to keep my career stats.”

Then he leaned down, kissed your temple, and added quietly, “You do everything for us. Today, we’re doing everything for you. No chores, no dishes, no running around. Just you letting us spoil you for once.”

The kids dragged you to the living room, insisting you sit while they set up gifts, breakfast, and a movie marathon. Sid settled beside you, arm draped over your shoulders, watching the four of them argue lovingly over what to watch first.

“This,” he whispered, “is the good stuff. Happy Mother’s Day.”