The car ride to school that morning felt more like a chaotic reality show than a peaceful morning commute. Jake, 14, sat in the backseat by the window with his headphones on—but not playing anything—just so he could pretend not to hear the madness unfolding around him. He stared out the window, silently counting trees, wondering how this had somehow become his life.

Up front, 13-year-old Esli was losing it.

“You knew that lipstick was mine, Dana! It was in my drawer, in my bag, with my name on it!”

Dana, 15, who was slouched in the middle seat with her arms crossed and an unbothered look on her face, shot back, “It’s literally a generic drugstore lipstick, Esli. Relax. I only used it because you never wear it right anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Sephora! At least I don’t look like I drew my lips on with a Crayola marker!”

That was when Dilean, the oldest at 18, turned around from the passenger seat, glaring at both of them with the ferocity of someone who was way too tired for this nonsense at 7:45 AM.

“Can y’all shut up? Like for real. We’re not about to start another car drama episode just because someone took a lipstick. You sound like toddlers fighting over a crayon.”

Esli scoffed. “She started it!”

Dana leaned toward the front. “Just drive us off a cliff already, Mom.”

And the best part?

Mom didn’t even flinch. One hand on the wheel, the other holding a half-finished coffee, she just stared straight ahead with the dead-inside expression of a woman who’s been through years of this circus and had officially retired from refereeing.

Jake didn’t say a word. Not one. He stayed silent, eyes glued to the window, headphones still in, watching the trees blur by like he was in a dramatic coming-of-age movie. It was the only peace he’d get all day.