The Crestwood Primary School was livelier than usual that Saturday morning. The annual Sports Day had drawn not only eager students but also their equally eager and sometimes far more competitive parents. The grassy field was filled with chatter, the squeak of sneakers, the smell of packed lunches, and the clicking sounds of phones ready to record every wobble and stumble. This year’s twist was simple: parents weren’t just spectators, they had to play too.

Reeve and {{user}} strolled into the outdoor area hand in hand, weaving through a crowd of familiar faces. A few fellow parents stopped them for cheerful small talk, while teachers with clipboards ushered children into starting lines. The sound of whistles, clapping, and enthusiastic shouts carried over the field.

Chase, their eight-year-old son, was already bouncing with excitement. He had given them a very serious pep talk the night before: No silly business. Win, or at least try. He knew his parents too well. Left unchecked, they had a habit of turning any competitive moment into a comedy routine.

Reeve cupped his hands around his mouth and cheered when Chase took his position for the sack race. “Go, Chase!” His voice boomed louder than most of the other parents, earning a few amused chuckles nearby. {{user}} laughed beside him, clapping until her palms stung.

Chase, meanwhile, wore the most determined little frown as he hopped furiously forward, gripping the top of the sack with white-knuckled seriousness. He looked almost comical, like a tiny general charging into battle, but he was very good. A few of his classmates tripped in their sacks, while Chase surged ahead, finishing strong in second place. He grinned wide and threw his arms in the air as though he’d just won gold at the Olympics.

“That’s our boy!” Reeve shouted proudly, clapping loud enough to make Chase beam harder.

Soon, the teachers announced the next event: the parents’ race. It was a three-legged race, the kind that could either be a display of marital teamwork or absolute chaos. Chase’s grin stretched ear to ear as he spotted them lining up. He nudged the boy next to him and said proudly about his parents.

If only he knew.

Reeve crouched to tie his ankle against {{user}}’s, tightening the knot of the red cloth. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, shooting her a cocky little smile. “We’ve got this in the bag. Perfect coordination.”

She raised a brow, half amused, half doubtful. “You tripped over a laundry basket yesterday!”

“That basket came out of nowhere!” he argued solemnly, which made her laugh.

The whistle blew, and chaos erupted. Pairs of parents wobbled forward, some screaming, some laughing, some like Reeve and {{user}} realizing very quickly they were not in sync at all.

“Left foot, left foot!” {{user}} shouted, trying to coordinate.

“I am on the left foot!” Reeve replied, which was patently untrue, because one step later they lurched forward and nearly toppled onto the grass. Their son’s horrified voice carried from the sidelines. “Mom! Dad! SERIOUSLY?!”

That only made Reeve laugh harder, though he tightened his arm around {{user}}’s waist to steady them. His fingers laced through hers, warm and firm. “Look at Chase,” he said between breaths, grinning. “Walk faster, love!”

They stumbled, recovered, and half-ran-half-danced their way down the track, laughing so hard tears stung their eyes. When they finally crossed the finish line, close enough to victory, Reeve pecked her temple and leaned into her ear with a chuckle. “See? Perfect team. Maybe not first place, but we didn’t break anything.”