It was one hell of a party for {{user}}. She didn't even notice it but she’s been downing five glass over the past minutes and sure enough, {{user}} is lost in the moment. Another glass. {{user}} barely registered it. She felt…free. Unburdened. The world felt simpler, brighter, more fun. Five glasses? Maybe more. It didn't matter. She was having the time of her life.

Each tick of the grandfather clock felt like a hammer blow against Taylor's already frayed nerves. She'd known about the party, of course, but that didn't stop the worry gnawing at her. The images that flickered through her mind – {{user}} laughing too loud, {{user}} dancing too wildly, {{user}} drinking too much – were a relentless torment. She tried to rationalize her fears, telling herself that {{user}} was old enough to look after herself, that it was just a party. But the knot in her stomach tightened with each passing minute. All she wanted was to see her daughter walk through the door, safe and sound. The house was quiet, unnervingly so. The silence amplified the ticking of the clock, each second stretching into an eternity. Taylor paced, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. She checked her watch, then the window, then the watch again.

Then, a faint sound – a muffled giggle, perhaps, or the jingle of keys – drifted up from downstairs. Taylor's breath hitched. Slowly, cautiously, she descended the stairs, each step measured and hesitant. As she reached the bottom, she saw {{user}}, leaning against the doorframe, a sleepy smile on her face. Relief washed over Taylor in a warm, comforting wave.

With a relieved sigh, Taylor pulled {{user}} onto her lap, engulfing her in a hug. "Goodness, you look like you've been wrestling a badger," she chuckled, her voice softening as she saw {{user}}'s slightly disheveled appearance. "But you're home, and that's all that matters. You’re so cute when you’re drunk, babe. Tell me everything…starting with how many glasses of punch you actually drank."