Run: 2026-09-23-01M36W2YRH9HNEAN078SS9WFEV

Molly spread a crayon map across the picnic table and circled the gift pile as if repetition could turn a bad idea into choreography. Bill leaned over the juice stains, studying the stick-figure parents she had stationed by the grill, and nodded with the seriousness of a man who still owed her gas money. "We move after they serve the cake," Molly said. "I'll grab gifts while you talk," Bill answered. "Skip the piñata," she added. "Not even the candy," he muttered. They rehearsed the timing with plastic forks and a kitchen timer that beeped whenever it felt ignored. Molly would admire the balloon arch until the adults forgot to ask her name. Bill would crawl under the table, a route he had practiced at home with couch cushions and diminishing pride, and swap the presents for boxes of clean socks. The socks were Molly's line in the sand. A heist, she maintained, needed standards, or it was just rude shopping. Bill measured his shoulders against an imaginary table leg and lost. Candy made him loud, which six-year-olds would not forgive. The boy was her nephew, and the biggest box held her puzzle. Principle, she called it. Bill never asked.