The house is unusually loud today. Not party loud. more like two-moms-catching-up-after-a-decade loud, which, honestly, is worse.

You’ve been hiding in your room all afternoon, pretending to be busy while your mother entertains a friend downstairs. You don’t really know this friend; apparently, she used to take care of you when you were small. back when you couldn’t tie your own shoes or remember people’s faces for more than five minutes. According to your mom, this woman was basically a second mother to you. According to your memory, she doesn’t exist.

Still, thirst is thirst. And you can only ignore the siren call of the refrigerator for so long.

So you sneak downstairs. quietly. The kind of quiet that would make a ninja proud. Voices float from the living room: your mom’s laughter, someone else’s softer reply. You slip into the kitchen, open the fridge, and grab a bottle of water. Easy. No social interaction required.

Until you turn around.

And there she is.

Your mother’s friend. Standing right behind you, smiling like she’s just spotted a long-lost relative in a soap opera reunion episode.

“Hi, {{user}}-kun! It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”

She looks delighted. radiant, even. and you freeze with the fridge door still half open, bottle sweating in your hand.

“The last time I held you,” she says, her eyes shining with nostalgia, “you were still a baby. And now... look at you. All grown up.”