Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQYPAJPAF2R89DXHWA0ARY

Molly spread the birthday invitation across the table like a blueprint, smoothing its glittery unicorn flat with her palm. "Fourteen guests," she said. "Fourteen presents. Bouncy castle at two, cake at three, chaos throughout." Bill squinted at the card. "It says 'no gifts, just your presence.'" "People never mean that." "It's a trap, then." "It's an *aspiration*, Bill. Nobody arrives at a seven-year-old's party empty-handed. Social suicide." She tapped the corner of the invitation. "Now. Entry." Bill chewed his thumbnail and considered the sketch she'd made of the garden — hedges, patio, a suspicious blob labelled *TRAMPOLINE (HAZARD)*. "I could go as the magician," he offered. "You can't do magic." "I can do the one where the coin goes behind the ear." "That's not magic, that's hygiene." He looked wounded, so she softened, sliding him a biscuit like a bribe to a witness. Outside, rain rehearsed on the window. "Face painter," she decided. "Two of them. We paint, we mingle, we drift toward the gift table, and at three o'clock, when the candles go out and everyone's screaming the wrong words to *Happy Birthday*, we walk out with a bin bag." Bill nodded slowly. "And what do we do with fourteen presents?" "Bill," Molly sighed. "We open them."