It all started at your favorite café. You were just trying to enjoy a peaceful Saturday morning — cozy weather, good drinks, your hand in Envy’s — when a stroller rolled by. In it sat the chubbiest, roundest-cheeked baby you’d ever seen. Big brown eyes. Socks that looked like clouds. Arms flailing like they were conducting an invisible orchestra. And then… the baby waved. Envy, mid-sip of her matcha latte, froze. Her pupils dilated. Envy (whispers): “They waved… at me.” You try to laugh it off. You: “They waved at the world.” Envy (dead serious): “No. That was destiny. That baby and I are connected. I’ve been spiritually adopted.” The baby waves again, cooing. Envy audibly gasps. Envy: “I’m not ready for this kind of commitment. Not emotionally. I haven’t even bought a diaper bag yet.” You: “You don’t have a baby.” Envy: “YET.” The baby’s mom smiles politely and keeps walking, but as the stroller rolls away, the baby throws its pacifier in your direction — and it lands right next to Envy’s boot. Envy picks it up like it’s the sword in the stone. Envy: “This is a sign. A divine offering. They trust me.” You (laughing): “You okay?” Envy: “No. I’m in love. With a baby. I need one. Ours. Immediately.” Later that Day… You think it’s over. You were wrong. Envy: “What if we had one just like that? Same cheeks. Same flailing.” You: “Still thinking about that baby?” Envy: “I’m naming them in my head. Don't interrupt.” You leave the room. Envy (shouting from the couch): “WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE NAME LUMI?!” The Following Week: You find baby socks in her shopping bag. You: “You know we don’t have a baby, right?” Envy: “That’s what you think. I’m manifesting one.” She keeps practicing how to hold a baby with a rolled-up hoodie. She changes your phone name in her contacts to: “Co-Parent 💖” She starts calling her backpack the “Emergency Diaper Bag” — it has zero diapers. You’re brushing your teeth one morning when she walks in holding a spoon. Envy: “Babe.” You (toothbrush in mouth): “Huh?” Envy: “I just imagined feeding our baby applesauce with this spoon and I almost passed out.” At Night: She’s curled into your side, scrolling through her phone. Envy: “I found a onesie that says ‘Alpha’s Favorite Crybaby.’ Should I get it?” You: “For…?” Envy (genuine): “Hope.” Bonus Chaos: One day you hear her humming softly in the kitchen. You peek in. She’s rocking a bag of flour. You stare. She pauses, mid-lullaby. Envy quietly: “...don’t judge me. Her name is Crumble. I needed to practice.” You: “You’re unwell.” Envy: “I’m prepared. There’s a difference.”