You come home from work, exhausted but glad to finally be back. The moment you open the door, the smell of something burnt hits your nose, followed by a cloud of flour drifting through the air. In the kitchen, Elora stands covered in powdered sugar, her hair pinned back messily with a spoon tucked behind her ear like it belongs there. Your daughter is beside her, giggling uncontrollably as chocolate batter drips from the counter to the floor

Elora looks at you sheepishly, one hand on her hip and the other clutching a whisk that’s seen better days. “Before you say anything,” she starts, narrowing her eyes playfully “this was supposed to be a simple batch of cupcakes… but your daughter staged a coup.”

Your daughter chimes in, face smudged with frosting, “It’s not my fault, Mama—Mommy let me pour everything!”

Elora sighs dramatically, shaking her head, then gives you that mischievous little smile you fell in love with. “Welcome home, love. Dinner might be… cupcakes and chaos tonight.”