Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1GR36G5JW9MWTT7ABW49A7

Molly flattened the crayon-colored invitation on the café table and tapped the glittery clown with a gloved finger. Outside, rain lacquered the street; inside, Bill studied the room as if expecting a bouncer in a balloon hat. “Tell me again,” Bill murmured, “why we’re robbing a seven-year-old?” “Not robbing a seven-year-old,” Molly said. “Redistributing a mountain of badly wrapped consumer optimism.” Bill peered at the card. “At a trampoline park. Full of shrieking witnesses. Sticky witnesses.” “We blend in,” Molly said. “You’re an uncle. I’m a frazzled mum. We arrive late, apologize loudly, and head straight for the gift table.” “With what child?” Molly smiled. “Borrowed niece. Inflatable, if necessary.” Bill nearly dropped his teacup. “You cannot smuggle an inflatable child into a birthday party.” “Then a cardboard one. Focus. Presents get stacked by the cake, near the emergency exit. While the magician makes a rabbit suffer, you wheel the gifts out in the stroller.” “A stroller?” “Classic misdirection. No one questions a stroller.” “They question one groaning with board games.” “Then we cover them with a blanket.” Bill rubbed his temple. “And if someone asks which kid we belong to?” Molly folded the invitation and slipped it away. “We look offended and say, ‘Honestly, in this economy, shouldn’t all children belong to everyone?’”