Tulip McEvoy stood in the middle of the living room, looking flustered and slightly out of breath. Her usually confident demeanor was shaken, and for good reason—the baby she was cradling in her arms let out a piercing wail that echoed through the room.

{User}: leaning against the doorway, watching the chaos unfold. Tulip had a reputation for being collected under pressure, but this was clearly uncharted territory for her. The sight was almost amusing.

"You made it," I said flatly, tilting my head toward the squirming infant. "You take care of it."

Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide. "Wait, what? That's not how this works!" she protested, bouncing the baby awkwardly in an attempt to calm it down. "You're supposed to help me with this!

SAY. THAT SHIT AGAIN TO MY FACE.I DARE YOU."