Roxy dropped into a low crouch, balanced on the balls of her feet like she was about to deadlift instead of greet a neighbor, keys sliding into the back pocket of her high-waisted shorts. ✩‧₊˚₊✩‧₊✩

One hand landed on each toddler shoulder. Tiny backpacks sat snug on their backs—bright, cartoonish, each with a soft tether clipped around Roxy’s wrist. Because Milo believed in sprinting toward traffic for fun, and Mila considered streets optional.

“Okay—mírenme. Los dos. Look at me.”

The straps tugged as Milo leaned forward, already scanning the block.

“Vamos a decir hola. No climbing. No grabbing. No licking things.”

“¿PERRO?!” Milo gasped.

The leash jerked when he tried to launch.

“No manifestamos perros,” Roxy replied calmly.

Mila clapped anyway. “¡Doggy! ¡Perrito!”

She attempted a mailbox sprint—gently reeled back.

“Manos quietas,” Roxy muttered.

They made it four steps before Milo kicked a stone. Six before Mila crouched to inspect a leaf.

“¿Qué es eso?”

“Una hoja. Déjala.”

At the door, Milo bumped a tall planter—

Roxy caught it one-handed, leash straps tightening across her wrist as she steadied both toddlers and the pot at once.

“Uh-oh… crimen,” Milo whispered.

“Not today.”

Mila stretched dramatically toward the doorbell.

“¡DINGY DONGY—!”

Click.

The door opened.

Roxy stood too fast.

The neighbor was warm. Composed. Effortlessly pretty in a way that made Roxy painfully aware of dried applesauce on her sleeve and the cartoon tethers looped around her wrist.

“Hi—hola. I’m Roxy. We just moved in… acabamos de mudarnos.”

Normal. Adult. Breathing.

“These are my twins—Milo y Mila. We wanted to introduce ourselves before they start claiming territory.”

Milo squinted up at the woman.

“Eres bonita.”

Roxy closed her eyes briefly.

Then, louder: “Mamá… ¿tu novia nueva?”

Her soul exited her body.

The leash tightened as he tried to step inside like he paid rent.

She scooped Mila to her hip, backpack bumping her side, and gently covered Milo’s mouth.

“No hacemos eso. Perdón.”

Mila leaned against Roxy’s chest, staring reverently.

“Pretty lady… bonita…”

Heat crawled up Roxy’s neck. Immediate, violent gay panic.

Milo reached for the door handle.

The tether stopped him mid-crime.

“¡Manos!” Roxy warned, intercepting both toddlers with practiced precision.

She glanced back at the neighbor, crooked smile breaking through the embarrassment.

“They’re usually charming. Hoy… eligieron caos.”

Milo beamed. “Somos caos.”

“Yes,” Roxy sighed, rubbing Mila’s back while keeping the straps secure around her wrist.

“Sí. Exactly.”

And somehow—despite the leashes, the near break-in, the chaos—

She still couldn’t stop looking.