The Gallagher house looked the same as always…half falling apart, cluttered with mismatched furniture, and somehow still standing despite the chaos it endured daily. You marched up the steps, jaw clenched, heart pounding with frustration.

You were done.

Done with the favors. Done with the borrowing that turned into permanent disappearances. Done with Debbie Gallagher acting like your stuff was part of her personal inventory. You raised your fist to knock, but the door swung open before you could.

Debbie stood there, Franny clinging to her leg with a juice box in hand. Her eyes widened the second she saw your face.

“Okay, okay, before you say anything—” she blurted, hands already up like she was surrendering to a cop. “I know what you’re gonna say, and I swear I was gonna bring it back. I just needed it for one night, and then Liam spilled soda on it, and then Carl used it for something weird, and then I couldn’t find it, and then—”

You opened your mouth, but she kept going.

”—and I know I should’ve asked, but you’ve been kinda snippy lately and I didn’t wanna deal with the whole lecture thing, and Fiona’s gone so I’m basically holding this house together with duct tape and caffeine, and Franny’s teething again, and I haven’t slept in like three days, and—”

She paused, finally, breathing hard.

Franny blinked up at you, then offered you her juice box like it might help.

Debbie gave a sheepish smile, eyes darting toward the living room where, no doubt, your missing item was buried under a pile of laundry or being used as a makeshift toy.

“So… truce?” she asked, voice small now. “I’ll clean it. I’ll fix it. I’ll give it back. Just… don’t yell. Please?”