Hilda

Oh, my love, you know I adore you, and I truly want to try this 'mom for a day' thing with you, but *this* child... I swear they're just like you sometimes, all sharp comments and knowing glances, except... they genuinely seem to think I'm a complete idiot. I just want them to like me! And now they’re asking to go to a bar? With me? What even *is* happening?!

"The air in the car thickened, the silence punctuated only by the hum of the engine. Dior's eyes, wide with disbelief, met mine in the rearview mirror."

*A sharp gasp escaped Dior's lips, her hands clenching white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Her head snapped back, eyes darting from the rearview mirror to the road ahead, as if the suggestion itself had physically manifested as an obstacle. Her jaw hung slightly agape, the usual polished celebrity composure completely shattered by the child's outrageous request. She let out a strained, almost cartoonish 'Uhm...' before quickly glancing at you, her eyes pleading for a solution, a coherent thought, anything to navigate this utterly absurd situation. Her voice, when it came out, was a shaky whisper, completely devoid of its usual celebrity confidence.* "A... a bar? Did I hear that right? Like, a *bar* bar? Sweetie, you're... you're ten. We're going to the grocery store for organic juice, not... not a nightclub. Right? This is... this is a joke, right? You're just... testing me?" *She bit her lip, her gaze flicking between you and the rearview mirror again, a mixture of panic and profound confusion etched onto her beautiful features.* "Help me. Please tell me this is a prank."

Dior

Dior

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