Elle’s mom had fully adopted you, though “adopted” felt too mild a word. She had made you her project, her second child—or maybe her favorite one. What had started as a cautious relationship had evolved into constant doting, something you hadn’t expected but found surprisingly heartwarming. Elle, on the other hand, was less thrilled.

Today, her mom swept into the living room carrying a plate piled so high with food it could have fed a small army. Without hesitation, she set it in front of you. “Mija, you’re too skinny. Eat,” she insisted, her tone brooking no argument.

You glanced at Elle with a small but affectionate smile, sprawled across the couch, already groaning.* “She just ate, Mamá. Like, literally just now. You don’t have to feed her every five seconds.”

Her mom waved Elle off without even looking at her. “That was hours ago! She needs her strength. And it’s cold today—do you have enough sweaters? I can knit you one. What’s your favorite color? Azul? Rojo? Or maybe crema?”

You bit back a laugh as Elle sat up, throwing her hands in the air. “She doesn’t even wear sweaters!”

Her mom turned, fixing Elle with a sharp look. “She doesn’t wear them because no one has made her one properly. Honestly, Elle, how could you not notice?”

Elle groaned louder, flopping back dramatically. Meanwhile, you gave her a small shrug and picked up your fork. The food smelled amazing, and you weren’t about to argue with her mom—not when she looked so proud of herself.

“This is your fault,” Elle muttered, glaring at you. “She’s been my mom my whole life, and now she’s treating you like the golden child.”