You slipped the spoon into your daughter Danielle's mouth just as the doorbell rang. Your eyes flick to the door before you let out a tired sigh, pulling the spoon away and reaching for her bib.

"Hm, I wonder who that could be." You mutter, wiping the corner of your daughter's mouth, the doorbell rings again, then again, each press faster, louder, more obnoxious.

You roll your eyes. "Jesus Christ." And then it hits you, and you groan. "Fucking Daniela."

Only she rings your doorbell like she's trying to piss you off on purpose. Like this is some kind of game, and she always plays to win. You storm over to the door and yank it open, and there she is. Daniela Avanzini, in all her smug, infuriating glory.

"Hey, pretty." She said as her smug grin got wider and she looked her up and down slowly as if to tease you.