Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9JWENMGQ9CH5NKN8GNSQV

The living room smelled like fruit punch and regret. Molly pressed her ear to the front window, catching snippets of Lila—Bill’s ex-coworker—gushing, “*I made the cupcakes glow!*” while a piñata shaped like a lopsided dog thwacked the wall. Bill shifted behind her, his elbow jabbing her ribs. “‘S time, Mo. The presents are under the coffee table. I counted *fifteen*. Some’ve got ribbons. *Ribbons.*” Molly turned, peeling a glittery sticker from his sleeve. “Fifteen, but half are dinosaur onesies. Gross. Kids grow out of those before we can resell ’em.” Bill scoffed. “Dino onesies? *Vintage*. Sell ’em to the hipsters. They’ll pay triple for ‘authentic kid chaos.’” He paused, leaning in like he was sharing a secret. “And I saw a box with a *Lego castle* on it. With *turrets*. *Turrets.*” “Turrets belong to people who can afford real heists,” Molly said, but she was smiling. She slipped a small flashlight from her purse—stolen from a hardware store last Tuesday—and pointed it at a crumpled piece of paper in her pocket. “Plan: 3:48, when Lila’s busy giving the birthday girl a lollipop, I distract her with ‘Wow, those dino onesies are *masterpieces*’ and you snip the tape. Grab the big boxes, tuck a few small ones in so it looks like a *casual* grab, then b-line for the van. Got it?” Bill crossed his arms. “Got it. But what if the mom—*Mom*—comes back early? She’s on her ‘I’m tracking my step count’ kick. Last week, she reported a dust mote to HR.” Molly glanced at the living room clock. “She’s at the grocery store. Three mimosas in, she won’t notice a sneeze till it’s in her hair. [She nodded at the driveway.] That rust bucket’s our exit. Bill, you’re driving—” “Wait, I don’t *know* how to drive a stick—” “—and *you* eat *one* lollipop. Max. Mom will flip if we get sugar-high and start quoting *Titanic*. She hates *Titanic*.” “*One* lollipop. After the heist. To stay sharp.” Molly sighed, but she was grinning. “Fine. Just don’t eat the whole bag. The kid’s gonna have a meltdown.” Bill took a deep breath, adjusting a fake mustache stolen from his dad’s junk drawer. He opened the door, and a wave of chaos hit him: three-year-olds screaming, a piñata thwacking the lamp, and Lila cooing, “*Look, baby! The dog’s eye is *sparkly* now!*” He stepped in, past a toddler trying to ride a balloon. “Wow, that dog’s eye is *fancy*,” he said, voice too high. Lila beamed. “Thank you! I spray-painted it gold. Thought it needed a *glam upgrade*.” Molly leaned in the doorway, holding a juice box (stolen, obviously). “Gold? It looks like a Cheeto exploded in there.” Bill kicked her foot. “Molly, *stop*—” “—Cheeto *art* is a *movement*,” Lila said, unphased, pressing a cupcake into his hand. “Want one? Unicorn shaped!” Bill’s eyes flicked to the table. “Uh… sure. Maybe *one*.” He took a bite, and red frosting smudged his cheek. “It’s… *good*.” Molly checked her watch. 3:47. “We’re *in*, Bill. Let’s—” The piñata swung, harder, and the string snapped. It crashed to the floor, spilling Starbursts and lollipops. The room went silent. Then ten kids shrieked, “*CANDY!*” and swarmed. Lila clapped. “Perfect timing! Piñata day!” She turned to Bill, who was now knee-deep in candy. “You want a *pile* piece, pal?” He looked up, frosting smearing. “A *mountain* piece. Please.” Molly knelt, grabbing a Lego box labeled “*Castle*” and dropping it into her bag. “Hurry up, you overgrown toddler—” “—I’m *hurrying*!” Bill said, shoving a tablet into his coat. “This has *games*! The kid who gets it will *worship* me!” “For the kid, Bill. *The kid*.” Bill paused, then pulled a dinosaur onesie from the table, dangling it like a trophy. “Saved this. For the kid. She’ll name it *Bill Jr.*, probably.” Molly stared, then laughed. “Fine. For *Bill Jr.*” The mom called, “Time to open presents, everyone!” Molly grabbed a box labeled “*PS5*” (wait, no—Lila was *impoverished*) and tossed it to Bill. He caught it, then gaped. “This is a *fire tablet*. With *YouTube*.” “Strategic,” Molly said, tearing off the dinosaur onesie’s tag. “And you owe me a lollipop. For distracting Lila.” Bill pulled a strawberry lollipop from his pocket. “Two. For the *kid* and the *strategic* heist.” Molly took it, then nodded at the door. “Now. Go. Before the mom—” The front door burst open. Mom walked in, squinting at her step tracker. “Why’s the house—?” “*PIÑATA DAY!*” Lila yelled, grabbing the mom’s hand. “Look at the dog’s eye!” Molly and Bill bolted, the sound of kids screaming fading behind them. Bill turned, grinning, covered in Skittles. “Best heist ever. Even with the frosting.” Molly snorted. “Frosting, Skittles, a piñata that tried to commit arson. Yeah. Best heist.” She adjusted her bag, which now bulged with Legos, a dinosaur onesie, and a tablet. “Next time, we hit a library. Less glitter, more *silence*.” Bill: “Less glitter, more *cash*. Let’s skip the kid stuff.” Molly: “Let’s skip *breathing* first. You’re a candy mess.” He grinned. “Worth it.” They rounded the corner, heading for the van. Somewhere, a kid wailed, “*MY DOG’S EYE!*” but no one cared. The heist was done. The presents were safe. And for now, that was all that mattered.