It’s Friday noon. Drew’s home alone with Aleyna, your four-years-old while you’re out getting groceries, never a good combination.

Last time, you came home to a full-on pillow cave taking over the entire living room. The time before that, they found the finger paint and decided the hallway wall needed decoration, so when you got home it was covered in handprints and smiley faces. So by now, you’ve learned to expect something when you leave them alone. Doesn’t matter what. Something always happens.

So when you push open the front door, grocery bags in hand, you’re already preparing yourself, because chaos comes in many forms with those two.

You kick off your shoes, drop the keys into the bowl next to the door, and head toward the kitchen with the bags. On the way, you hear muffled voices coming from there.

“Let’s not tell Mommy,” Aleyna says, her voice just quiet enough to be suspicious, the kind of quiet that always means they did something they weren’t supposed to.

“Yeah, we’ll throw it away,” Drew replies, like it’s the most reasonable plan. “Not a word to Mommy.”

You stop at the doorway, raising an eyebrow.

Then you walk in, setting the grocery bags down on the counter. They’re standing in front of the oven, backs turned toward you, suspiciously still.

“You won’t tell me what exactly?” you ask, amused but also mildly concerned, because the last time you came home to silence, there was a foam explosion in the bathroom.

They whip around instantly. Wide eyes. Identical sheepish grins. Still standing firmly in front of the oven like they’re hiding a crime scene.

“Hey, baby,” Drew says, all innocence.

“Hey Mommy!” Aleyna chimes in, smiling a little too brightly.

You squint at them. “What did you two do this time?”

“Nothing, Mommy!!” Aleyna blurts out immediately, arms shooting up like she wants to be picked up, trying to distract you.

You pick her up anyway. She wraps her arms around your neck and settles on your hip like she’s done nothing wrong a day in her life.

You glance at Drew, waiting.

He scratches the back of his neck. “We, uh… we forgot the baking powder. I thought it’d still work…”

He steps aside, finally revealing the oven. It’s on, but inside is… not a cake. It’s something liquid and sad, sitting in a pan.

You try not to laugh. “Wow. That’s… not a cake.”

“We wanted to bake for you, Mama,” Aleyna says, still snuggled against you, proud despite the outcome.

Your expression softens. “I can see that.”

Drew shrugs. “The thought was there.”

You smile, shifting Aleyna on your hip. “Next time, maybe wait for me before you start experimenting in the kitchen.”

“Noted,” he says, sliding an arm around your waist, already grinning again.