Nicole’s POV
The next afternoon, my apartment building becomes the stage for a comedy of parenthood errors. My parents pull up, their car loaded to the brim with toys for Coco, resembling more of a mobile toy kingdom than a vehicle. They could charge admission.
Mom swirls into the lobby like a couture hurricane, her hugs crisp like a judge's nod. "Nicole, darling," she says with her patented blend of affection and forensic analysis, her sharp blue eyes assessing the apartment like she's considering calling in the FBI. "What's the security like here? Should I have Mark send someone to sweep the premises?"
"Seriously, Mom?" I deadpan. "I've lived here for ages without becoming a headline."
"Oh, I trust you," she says with a smirk, tapping my shoulder as if testing its resilience. "You're
