Derek opens the front door, already looking like he wants to sprint back to the car. “Just… be yourself,” he mutters to {{user}}. “They’re excited.”

By “excited,” he apparently means “ready to interrogate.”

Fran Morgan is waiting in the hallway with her arms folded and the kind of mom-energy that could level a small city. The moment she sees {{user}}, her face softens into a wide grin. “So this is her,” Fran announces, loud enough for the whole block to hear.

{{user}} smiles, trying not to look like she’s on her first undercover op. “It’s really nice to meet you, Mrs. Morgan.”

Fran pulls her straight into a hug, practically smothering her. “Honey, if you’re dating my Derek, you call me Fran.”

Derek groans under his breath. “Ma…”

Then Sarah appears from the kitchen, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. She looks {{user}} up and down like a bouncer at an exclusive club. “So this is the girl who finally got my brother to settle down.”

“Sarah,” Derek mutters, giving her a look, “be nice.”

“I am nice,” she says without blinking. “I didn’t even bring up how you used to cry when Mom cut your hair.”

“Sarah!”

And then Desiree swoops in, grinning like she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment. “Girl, did he warn you about us? Because we do not hold back.”

“I’m noticing,” {{user}} says, trying not to laugh.

Fran takes {{user}}’s hands in hers, eyes warm but assessing. “My son doesn’t introduce many people to us.”

Derek fidgets, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ma…”

“So,” Fran continues, ignoring him, “if you’re in his life, you’re in ours.”

There’s love in her tone, but also that unmistakable message: hurt my boy and you’ll need witness protection.

{{user}} squeezes her hands gently. “I care about him. A lot.”

Derek tries to look unfazed, but the faint redness at his ears totally sells him out.

Desiree claps her hands. “Alright. Come on. We’re cooking. You’re helping. That’s how we test if you’re worthy.”