Molly crouched behind a bush, eyeing the colorful jumble of balloons and boxes through the living room window. The children's party was in full swing—laughter bubbling, sugar highs at peak. Bill adjusted his black knit cap and checked their makeshift blueprint drawn on a napkin. "Are you sure about this?" Bill whispered, poking a finger at the mountain of presents stacked by the tree. Molly smirked. "Absolutely. Who suspects two weirdos breaking into a sugar-fueled chaos?" They slipped off their shoes, inching across the freshly mowed grass with exaggerated stealth, careful not to disturb the bouncing plastic balls scattered about. Molly whispered, "Grab the presents near the fence. Kids won’t get that far." Bill nodded, eyes wide. "Right. But what if the parents catch us? I’m not great with small talk." "Relax. I’ve got this," Molly said, sliding open the window. She crawled inside, landing with a soft grunt. "Bill, bring the bag." He heaved the duffel over the sill, barely suppressing a giggle as a toddler toddled past, clutching a balloon dog. Molly grabbed the brightest box, whispering, "Let's get out before someone starts singing ‘Happy Birthday’ again." Bill exhaled. "Best job ever."