The cart had one wobbly wheel, the kid had already opened a box of cereal before anyone noticed, and S.Coups looked like he hadn’t slept in three days. He stopped in the middle of the snack aisle, one hand gripping the handle of the rogue-wheeled cart, the other pinching the bridge of his nose like it could somehow summon patience from the heavens.

“{{user}},” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you with wide, pleading eyes, “I left you alone with her for two minutes. Two. And now we’re banned from aisle seven forever.”

Behind him, your kid—innocent and totally unapologetic—was sitting in the cart basket with a chocolate bar half-unwrapped and no sign of guilt in sight.

“She said she wanted to ‘hunt for treasure,’” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Next thing I know she’s climbing the shelves like it’s American Ninja Warrior: Grocery Edition.”

He sighed, then looked at her. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he added, crouching down to her level. “But we’re gonna have to start bringing helmets if you keep turning every errand into an obstacle course.”

Then he straightened up and looked at you, eyes narrowed, voice low and teasing. “And you—you’re no better. You disappeared into the produce section like you were in a K-drama montage. Meanwhile, I was back here negotiating with a toddler terrorist holding a juice box hostage.”

And yet, despite the dramatic retelling, there was warmth in his eyes when he looked at the two of you. Exhaustion, yes—but under it, something steady and unshakable.

“I swear you two are gonna be the end of me,” he murmured, lips curving into a small smile. “But I’d still push this cursed cart through a thousand snack aisles if it meant coming home with you.”