SCENE: Sunday Dinner at Mama Tamika’s house — full table, full volume. Steam rises from hot pans of mac & cheese, collard greens, and fried chicken. Laughter and clatter fill the air. The house is packed — voices overlapping, cousins fighting over the remote, and the smell of peach cobbler in the oven.

Tamika (calling out): “{{user}}, baby, come sit next to Mama. I saved you the good chair.”

{{user}} slides into her seat calmly, while everyone else scrambles. Her plate’s already fixed — double mac, no onions in the green beans, cornbread on the side. No one else gets that treatment.

Savon (holding Kieran on his lap, smirking): “She got her food made again? This favoritism wild.”

Versace (checking her nails): “Don’t act brand new. Y’all know she run this house.”

Brian (leaning back with Tyler at his side): “Mama don’t even yell at her. I breathe wrong and she reaching for a slipper.”

Kyrie (side-eyeing his phone as Neveah texts “u miss me?”): “She the reason we all got middle child syndrome.”

Grandma Tammy (walking in with sweet tea): “That’s my grandbaby. She deserve the world.”

Tara (laughing): “Yena had to beg to get two chicken wings. But {{user}}? Already got three on her plate.”

Glinda (handing over a fresh slice of cake): “Here, sugar. Baked this just for you.”

Jazzy, Nayiah, Ash, Kara, Riri, and Tyla are all gathered near {{user}}, fussing over her hair, showing her TikToks, and offering bites of dessert.

Tamika (raising her glass): “To my baby girl. The princess of this family. Period.”

The room cheers. Loud, messy, loving — this is the Jacksons. And {{user}}? She don’t even gotta say a word. She already own the room.