Mari’s POV

I stared intently at the glow of the laptop screen, the blue light making the fine lines around my eyes feel deeper than they were. Being married for the last eight years meant I had never even glimpsed a dating website. The world had changed. Love was now a commodity you could swipe through while waiting for the kettle to boil. For Tia, though, I would do anything.

We weren't just friends; we were sisters in every way that mattered. My mind drifted back to the day she came to live with us - the small, wide-eyed girl clutching a tattered teddy bear after her mother’s funeral. My parents had been her godparents, a promise made in a hospital room years before that they never hesitated to keep. Technically, we were legal siblings, but the bond went deeper. She was the calm to my storm, the quiet my chaotic energy. Watching her wall herself off from the world for the last two years had been like watching a vibrant painting fade in the sun.

Okay," I recited, my fingers clicking rhythmically against the keyboard. "Username: TiaRose98. Age: 27. Job: Publisher at A Book Company - probablu best not to put the actual company there could be weirdos out there. Hometown: Fellsdello. Favourite colour: Violet.

Impressive," Tiana smiled, though her voice lacked its usual spark. She was curled into the corner of the sofa, hugging a cushion like a shield. "You remembered my favourite colour. I thought you’d say turquoise since you’re currently obsessed with it.

I’m obsessed with turquoise for me, Ti. You’ve been a violet girl since you were five," I countered, not looking up. "Now, stay focused. We’re at the 'Preferences' section.

We scrolled through the standard list - hair colour, eye colour, favourite food, best qualities, worst qualities. It felt like we were building a character in one of the manuscripts she spent all day editing. We spent the next thirty minutes debating the nuances of her favourite movies and her stance on pineapple on pizza (she was against it, which I felt was a mistake, but I let it slide). It was fun - the kind of light hearted, giggly fun we hadn't had in a while.

I sat back, pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, and folded my arms in my lap. I dropped my voice into my best therapist impression, the one I usually reserved for when Ben was being particularly dense. "So, Tiana Rose, tell the jury: what exactly are you looking for in a man? No more 'it doesn't matter' - give me the truth."

Tiana went quiet. The laughter that had filled the room a few minutes ago ebbed away, replaced by a rare moment of vulnerability. She looked out the window at the Fellsdello skyline.

I guess, most importantly, I want a man who loves me for me," she said softly. "Someone who sees my quirks - the way I have to organize my bookshelves by genre and then by spine colour, or the way I cry at the end of every 19th-century novel - and finds them endearing rather than exhausting. I want someone who sees my anxieties and loves me in spite of them. Someone honest, trustworthy, loyal. Someone I can bare my soul to.

She paused, a small, self-deprecating laugh escaping her. "Being attractive would help, too. I’m not a saint. Tall, handsome, well-built... maybe dark hair and deep, soulful eyes like pools of melted chocolate."

Girl, you aren't looking for a man, you’re looking for a chocolate labrador!" Cleo barked from the kitchen.

The three of us burst into fits of giggles, the tension breaking like a fever. "That man definitely does not exist," Cleo continued, walking back in. "But a girl can dream. In the meantime, the algorithm will settle for 'tall with a job.'"

Beneath the laughter, I felt a sense of mission. Tiana had been stuck in a rut. Todd had done a number on her confidence, making her feel like her 'quirks' were flaws rather than the things that made her special. He’d been a narcissist who drained her energy, and since then, she’d built a wall around herself made of hardcover books and cosy blankets.

I finished filling in the remaining boxes, describing Tiana’s love for old libraries and her secret obsession with spicy pizza. I uploaded Cleo’s candid shot - the one where Tiana looked surprised and ethereal - along with a few others I had on my phone from our last beach trip. My sister was naturally beautiful; even when she was caught off guard, she had a grace that was impossible to manufacture.

You look so... real, Ti," Cleo said, looking over my shoulder. "Not like those girls who use so many filters they look like they’re made of plastic.

Tia leaned in, looking at the screen. For a second, her guard dropped. I saw a flicker of hope in her eyes, a tiny spark of 'what if' that she’d been trying to douse for years.

It looks... okay," she whispered. "I guess.

Last chance to back out," I said slowly, my finger creeping toward the 'Submit' button. I looked at Tiana. I wanted her to be sure. I didn't want her to feel pressured, but I also didn't want her to stay in her tower forever.

Oh, just do it already so we can get back to the pampering," Tiana said, feigning annoyance. I could see the tiny, hopeful smile hiding at the corners of her mouth.

I double-clicked. The screen flashed a bright, celebratory purple. Profile Live.

Done," I announced. "Now, who wants pizza? I’m starving, and apparently, building a digital soulmate takes a lot out of a girl.

Me too!" Tiana replied, standing up and stretching. "Plus, it’s officially pamper time. I need some of those collagen eye patches. I’m so tired after all those manuscripts today.

Let’s get pampering!" Cleo squealed, reaching for the face masks as if they were a prize.

As the girls started laughing about which movie to put on and what pizza to order, I glanced back at the laptop. Tiana’s profile was live. Somewhere out there, her "perfect man" was swiping, too. I just hoped for her sake that he was a lot more reliable than the men from her past. I thought of Ben, sitting at home right now with the kids, and felt a pang of guilt for finding him 'boring.' Boring was safe. Boring was a husband who stayed home with the kids so his wife could go and get drunk with her friends.

I looked at Tiana, her dark curls bouncing as she laughed at something Cleo said. She was the best person I knew. She deserved the world. I just didn't know yet that the world - or rather, a ghost from the past - was already watching her from the dark car idling on the street below.

Tiana’s POV

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.

The vibration wasn’t just a sound; it was a rhythmic, mechanical intrusion that travelled through the wooden bedframe, up into the mattress, and seemed to rattle directly against the base of my skull. I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow, trying to cling to the fading remnants of my dream. It had been the same one again: the suffocating mist, the shrinking door, and that version of Ben with the hollow, terrifying eyes.

Buzzzzz.

Oh, for fuck’s sake," I hissed into the duvet.

I jolted upright, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. For a confused second, I didn't know where I was. The room was bathed in the hazy, dim pinkish orange of the dawn filtering through the gap at the top of the curtains. My mouth felt like I’d been chewing on a woollen rug - a lingering souvenir of the "Margarita Senoritas" session the night before.

I glanced at the antique clock on the mantelpiece. 7:30 AM. Far too early for a Saturday. I sank back down into my cosy, warm bed, pulling the covers up over my head to create a fortress of silence.

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.

Curiosity finally won out over the desperate need for more sleep. Sleep is overrated, I told myself, though my eyes felt like they were full of sand. I reached out a fumbling hand, grabbed the phone from the nightstand, and swiped down the notification tab.

My jaw didn't just drop; it stayed open. Sixty notifications from Lovebomb. Sixty.

The breakdown was even more overwhelming: thirty-six potential matches, twenty direct messages, and four requests for "additional photos." I stared at the screen, feeling small against the sheer volume of digital attention. It was a staggering amount of data to process before I’d even had caffiene hit.

Beneath the barrage of dating alerts, the "Margarita Senoritas" group chat was already a war zone of activity. I tapped into it to find a selfie of Cleo and Marissa. They were jogging along the avenue, looking suspiciously glowy and athletic. Cleo’s black braids were perfectly contained, those pink tips flashing in the morning light, and Mari’s icy blue eyes were bright despite the hour.

How? They had polished off the exact same amount of margarita as I had. I had watched Cleo do a shot of tequila at midnight while Mari danced to a 90s throwback. How were they currently upright and moving at a pace faster than a crawl? It was a betrayal of the highest order. I looked like a swamp monster with a bird’s nest of dark brown curls, yet they were out there conquering the pavement. I ignored their "Morning Sunshine!" texts; I couldn't handle their high-octane energy without professional intervention.

I hauled myself out of bed, feeling heavy and uncoordinated. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror - olive skin looking a little sallow from lack of sleep, and my dark brown curls standing in a chaotic, frizzy halo around my head. I looked less like a high-powered Publisher and more like a woman who had been dragged through a hedge backwards.

In the kitchen, I performed the only ritual that mattered. I measured out the slow-roasted Peruvian beans, the intense, nutty aroma already starting to heal my soul. The sound of the machine - the hiss and gurgle - was the only music I wanted to hear. I poured the dark liquid into my favourite oversized mug and leaned against the counter, inhaling the steam.

Right," I whispered. "Let’s see what the 'bombers' have to say."

I sat at the breakfast bar, and opened Lovebomb. The very first message at the top of my inbox was from a guy named Greg.

Ooh, he’s actually quite cute, I thought, feeling a rare spark of optimism. Maybe Cleo was right. Maybe the algorithm wasn't a total disaster.

I clicked on to his profile. He had a kind face and a slightly crooked, mischievous smile. His profile picture was simple - no gym selfies, no "alpha" posturing. Just him in what looked like a professional studio of some kind. I wondered what a guy like that had to say.

I tapped the message. My jaw didn't just drop; it practically hit the granite countertop.

Greg: 'Hey there Tia - how would you like to be Tia-bagged by these Greg big balls tonight?'

How... what... how rude!" I hissed, the shock making me nearly drop my phone.

Accompanying the text was a photograph of what I assumed were Greg’s testicles. To be perfectly editorial about it, they were rather average-sized and disturbingly hairy. It was the digital equivalent of being slapped in the face with a wet fish.

The audacity was staggering. The pun was terrible, the delivery was unsolicited, and the photography was amateur at best. I took a deep breath, picked the phone back up, and took a screenshot. If I was going to suffer this, the girls were coming down with me.

I fired the screenshot and the photo into the group chat with a caption that dripped with sarcasm.

Tiana: 'Hey girls, if this is what dating apps are all about, I’m done before I even begin. My eyes need bleaching.'

The response was instantaneous. The chat suddenly filled with laughing-crying emojis. Cleo, never one to miss a beat, sent a series of gifs showing people dunking biscuits in cups of tea.

Marissa: 'Just give it a chance, Ti! There might be some ballers among those ballsers. Maybe he just has a very... specific sense of humour?'

Tiana: 'Specific? It’s unsolicited anatomy, Mari! I’m deleting the app. I’m moving to a cabin in the woods. I’m becoming a nun.

Cleo: Don't you dare. Just block Greg-the-Baller and move on to the next one.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. I looked back at Greg’s profile. I scrolled past the... scrotal incident... and looked at his face again. He really was handsome. And the pun - as much as I hated to admit it - was so phenomenally bad that a tiny, traitorous giggle bubbled up in my chest. It was bold. Horribly, disgustingly bold.

What the hell, I thought. Maybe it was the remnants of last night’s tequila talking, or maybe I was just tired of being the 'safe' girl who never took risks.

I navigated back to his message and started typing.

Tiana: 'For a first impression, that was certainly... ballsy. But for the record, I prefer my tea without the extra baggage. Try again, Greg. Without the anatomy lesson this time.'

I hit send before I could chicken out.

Tiana: 'Are we still on for lunch today? I need fajitas to forget I ever saw that man’s pubic hair. Fandangos at 12:00?'

Cleo: 'I’m out! Kyle invited me for lunch. He’s starting a run of night shifts this week over at the firehouse, so I won't get another proper chance to see him for a few days :( sorry babe!'

I rolled my eyes. Hmm, yeah, okay Cleo. Ditching your besties for your new firefighter boyfriend. I loved her, but she was already in that "new relationship" fog where the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Marissa: 'Yes, yes, and yess! Ben is looking after the boys for a few hours so we can have some grown-up time. Took a bit of encouragement, but I’ve managed to convince him to "babysit" until at least 3.'

My blood pressure spiked.

Tiana: 'How many times, Mari? It’s not babysitting when it’s your own kids! It’s his damn responsibility too. He needs to grow up and grow a pair.'

It made me so mad. They were his kids - Henry and Harry were his flesh and blood - and Mari was the C.O.O. of a major publishing house, the breadwinner who had been stuck at home for the last eight months. He could pull his bloody weight for three hours while she had lunch with her sister.

Marissa: 'Maybe he can borrow Greg’s?' She followed the text with a shoulder-shrug emoji and a string of crying-laughing faces. I snorted into my coffee. At least she hadn't lost her sense of humour.

Tiana: 'Touché. See you at 12:00. I'll be the one wearing dark sunglasses and looking traumatised.'

I put the phone down and moved to the lounge to finish my coffee. I sank into my favourite armchair - a soft, fluffy velvet piece that usually made me feel safe. I tried to shake off the morning's chaos, but it lingered.

I decided to flick through a few more of the messages, hoping for something - anything - that didn't involve unsolicited anatomy. I swiped past a "Hey" and a "Nice eyes," and then, a name stood out that made the coffee turn to lead in my stomach.

Todd: 'Hey beautiful, how’s things?'

I deleted it immediately. Not today, Satan. Not today, not tomorrow, and not even if hell froze over.

Todd. The man who had managed make being a "sociopath" all his own. He had spent two years making me feel like my olive skin was too dull, my curls were too messy and my career at Masemann Books was "cute." He was a disaster I had barely survived. Seeing his name pop up on Lovebomb felt like a glitch in the universe.

I leaned my head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling. Sixty notifications. One pair of balls. One witty comeback. And one ex-boyfriend from hell. And it wasn't even 9 AM yet.

I checked the window. The grey, dreary morning was settling over the city of Fellsdello. I felt that prickle on my neck again - the one from the dream. I looked down at my phone.

I decided a slow morning waz in order. I headed to the bathroom and turned the stainless steel taps on my oversized cast iron bath to the hottest setting. I slowly moved over to the shelf and began opening and sniffing bottles of bubble bath. What did I fancy today..... the sharp, grounding seasalt and bergamot, relaxing lavender and chamomile, the sickly sweet marshmallow or the energising orange blossom, grapefruit and amber. I settled for the seasalt and bergamot, pouring a decent amount under the tap and swirling the water as it foamed and a thick sea of bubbles emerged. I dried my hands and walked to my closet, opting for a pair of ripped black jeans and a frilly white blouse with a red, lacey matching lingere set. I grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom.

I climbed into the bath and slid dowm underneath the bubbles, the burning hot water relaxing my tense muscles and washing the hangover away. I picked up my bottle of face mud, smothered my skim with the thick pink clay and laid back ready to relax for an hour.

By the time I had gotten out and dressed it was gone 10 o’clock. I checked my phone to see a message from Mari.

Mari: Hey babe. Can we meet at 11 instead? I’m famished! X

Great that gives me half an hour. Well, I suppose it’s dooable.

Tiana: Sure chic not a problem x

My phone buzzed frantically in my hand. Greg had replied.

Greg: 'Message received. Baggage-free zone from here on out. How about we start over? I’m Greg. I like spicy food and I promise to keep my trousers on for at least the first three messages.'

I smiled, a real one this time. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

I stood up. I had a lunch to prepare for, a sister to support, and a very strong feeling that this "TiaRose98" experiment was going to be a lot more complicated than a few margaritas and rude messages.

Marissa’s POV

Waaaaaahhhhhhh. Waaaaaahhhhh.

The sound cut through my dream like a rusty blade. One moment, I was on a yacht off the coast of Amalfi, a waiter named Lorenzo bringing me an Aperol Spritz while the gentle Mediterranean lapped against the hull. The next, I was in a detached house in Fellsdello, staring at the ceiling in the grey pre-dawn light, listening to my youngest son’s lungs operating at full, terrifying capacity.

Ben," I whispered, nudging the mountain of duvet beside me. "Ben, Harry’s crying. It’s your turn.

The mountain didn't move. A loud, rhythmic snore rumbled through the room, sounding less like a husband and more like a contented walrus.

BEN!" I repeated, sharper this time. I drove a bony elbow into his ribs. He just grunted, rolled over, and pulled the covers higher, cocooning himself in a fortress of denial.

I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 5:30 AM. Fantastic.

You owe me big time, Mr. Bardeau," I grumbled, swinging my legs out of bed. The floorboards were cold, sending a shiver up my spine that chased away the last vestiges of the Italian coast. I slid my feet into my fluffy slipper boots and grabbed my dressing gown off the back of the door, wrapping it around me like armour against the morning chill.

Mummy’s coming, Harry," I called out softly, stepping into the hallway. The wailing ramped up a notch, a siren song of pure displeasure.

Suddenly, I heard the soft padding of little feet on the carpet. My four-year-old, Henry, appeared from his room, rubbing his eyes with chubby fists. His pyjamas were twisted, and his hair stuck up in a dishevelled tuft that made him look like a startled owl.

Mummy! Harry’s crying! He woke me up," he yawned, his voice thick with sleep.

Aww, sorry baby. Don’t worry, let’s go and see him together, shall we?" I took his soft, warm hand in mine. Henry was at that sweet age where he still wanted to help, even when he was half-asleep and grumpy.

I gently pushed the nursery door open. The smell hit us before we even crossed the threshold. It was a physical wall of odour, thick and acrid.

Yuck! Mummy, it smells in here!" Henry exclaimed, immediately pinching his nose and backing away. "It smells like... like the zoo!

He wasn't wrong. As I approached the cot, I saw the sight every mother prays to avoid before her first coffee. It was everywhere. The sleepsuit, the sheets, the pristine white sheets I had so lovingly chosen.

A "Poonami." Level 5. Total containment failure.

Oh, fantastic," I muttered, my voice dripping with the kind of irony that only 5:30 AM can produce. I scooped up a tearful, very smelly, and very slippery Harry, holding him at arm's length as I carried him over to the changing mat.

Henry, can you go and wake up Daddy? Tell him he needs to run a bath for Harry. Right. Now.

Can I jump on him to wake him up?" Henry asked, his eyes suddenly wide and sparkling with mischief. The sleep was gone, replaced by the chaotic energy of a small boy presented with a mission.

You might have to, darling. I’ve already tried twice. Maybe pull the curtains open and shout in his ear, too," I suggested, grabbing a pack of wet wipes.

Yay!" Henry squealed in delight. He sprinted down the hallway like a rocket. A second later, I heard the heavy thud of a four-year-old landing on a sleeping adult, followed by a thunderous Oomph! and Ben’s confused shout of, "Mate! What are you doing?

I smiled grimly to myself as I began the delicate process of peeling off Harry’s dirty clothes. It was like disarming a bomb. One wrong move and the disaster would spread to my dressing gown, and then I’d have to burn it.

Ten minutes later, I had Harry wrapped in a clean towel, though he was still fussing. Ben appeared in the doorway, scratching his head. His blonde hair was standing up in every direction, his eyes were barely open, and his t-shirt was on inside out.

Oh dear, babe. Poonami?" he chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as if he were merely an observer to the chaos.

I looked at him, then at the pile of soiled sheets in the corner, then back at him. "Glad you find it amusing. Since it was your turn to get up, and since I’ve done the hard part of the cleanup, he needs a bath. He’s all yours."

I handed him the squirming baby. "I’m going to get these sheets in the wash and start breakfast. Once you're done, bring him down."

Yes, Ma’am," Ben said, finally looking a bit more awake. He kissed my forehead—the only clean spot on me—and took Harry. "Sorry, love. I must have been in a coma. I didn't hear a thing.

Selective hearing," I muttered as I headed past him. "Get scrubbing.

Downstairs, Henry was already seated at the breakfast bar, scribbling intently on a piece of paper with a blue crayon. The kitchen was cold and quiet, a stark contrast to the madness upstairs.

What you drawing there, bud?" I asked, looking at the coffee machine like it was a holy shrine.

He picked up the paper and proudly thrust it into my face. It was a masterpiece of aggressive brown scribbles. "It’s you and Harry, Mummy! He’s covered in poo, and you have poo all over your hands, and I put a peg on your nose for you too! Look, the peg is blue, your favourite!"

I stared at the drawing. It was disturbingly accurate. "How... artistic. That’s definitely not going on the fridge." I smoothed his hair down. "What do you want for breakfast, Henry?"

Cocoa Puffs!" he shouted, banging his fist on the counter. "And I want the big bowl!

Okay, okay, calm down," I sighed, grabbing the box from the pantry. "But only one bowl, or you'll be bouncing off the walls by noon.

I poured the cereal, the chocolatey smell warring with the lingering scent of the "nursery disaster" in my nostrils. Once Henry was happily crunching away, I turned my attention to the most important task of the day.

I reached for the canister of coffee beans, my hands trembling slightly with the anticipation of caffeine. I had just gripped the cool metal lid, ready to start the grinding process that would restore my humanity, when the doorbell rang.

The chime echoed through the house, shattering the peace. I jumped, my hand slipping off the canister and knocking a teaspoon onto the floor with a loud clatter.. I glanced at the microwave clock.

6:30 AM.

I tightened my dressing gown and padded to the front door, leaving the unmade coffee behind. I pulled the door open to find Cleo stretching on my doorstep. She was wearing a neon pink leopard-print tracksuit, matching trainers, and a headband that kept her braids perfectly in place. She looked like she’d stepped out of an 80s workout video, and she looked disgustingly energetic.

She stopped mid-lunge and looked at me, puzzled. "Why aren't you ready? Did you forget? We’re going for a run!"

My mouth fell open. The run. I had completely forgotten. My brain was so full of school runs, Henry's tantrums, and dirty nappies that the "Self-Care Saturday Run" had been wiped from my hard drive.

Oh god, Cleo," I groaned, running a hand over my face. "I completely forgot. It’s been a morning. Honestly, I haven't even had coffee yet.

No coffee? That's a crime," Cleo said, checking her smart watch. "Come on, Mari. The fresh air will wake you up better than caffeine. Go get changed. I'll give you five minutes.

Come in, hun." I sighed, stepping back to let her in. "BEN!" I shouted toward the stairs. "Cleo’s here! You’re on kid-watch!

Ben appeared at the top of the stairs. He had worked fast; Harry was now pristine, dry, and fully dressed in a cute blue romper suit with a little dinosaur embroidered on the chest. He looked like an angel, completely absolved of his earlier crimes.

No need to shout, love. I’m right here," Ben said, descending the stairs with Harry on his hip. "Oh, hi Cleo. Bit early, ain't it?

We're going for a run, Ben. You're on duty," Cleo told him with a smirk, jogging on the spot in my hallway. "Go change, Mari! The avenue is calling! Chop chop!

Well, there's no arguing with you, Cleo," Ben laughed, bouncing Harry, who cooed happily. "Go on, love. I've got this. We'll be fine.

I trudged up the stairs, pulling off my dressing gown as I went. I caught a glimpse of myself in the landing mirror. Messy hair, tired eyes with dark circles, and a smudge of something brown on my cheek that I really, really hoped was chocolate from Henry’s Cocoa Puffs. I scrubbed it off, pulled on a pair of navy trackies and a sky-blue t-shirt, and tied my hair into a bun that could only be described as "desperate."

Won't be long, love!" I called to Ben as I headed back down.

As the front door closed behind us, the cool morning air of Fellsdello hit my face. It was crisp and smelled of damp earth and exhaust fumes, but it felt like freedom.

What a morning," I exhaled, falling into step beside Cleo.

Tell me all about it - f you can keep up, that is!" Cleo taunted, turning and starting to pick up speed. Her neon pink legs were a blur against the grey pavement.

Hey, wait for me!" I called, forcing my tired legs to move. "Some of us have birthed two children!

We jogged down the avenue, the rhythmic pounding of our trainers on the pavement acting as a kind of therapy. We passed the sleepy rows of houses, the newsagent just opening up, and headed toward the stile that led to the river path.

I finally caught up with her at the stile, breathless and sweating.

Smile!" Cleo held up her phone to snap a selfie before I could protest.

Cleo, no! I look like a tomato!" I gasped, clutching my side.

You look glowing!" she corrected, tapping the screen. "We should send it to the group chat. It will give us an excuse to ask Tia about Lovebomb. I bet she’s awake by now.

I clambered over the stile, not quite as daintily as Cleo had done. "Last one to the bridge buys the juices!" she shouted, already sprinting ahead.

Not fair! You always win!" I moaned, but I chased after her anyway. The competition felt good. It felt like me, not just 'Mummy'.

We ran for nearly an hour, looping through the park and back down toward the river. As we approached the bridge I noticed the sun was now fully up, and I was sweating, breathless, but feeling surprisingly human again.

Okay," Cleo said when I finally caught up with her, “Breakfast! Im famished!” We headed straight into The Boathouse, our favourite juice bar by the river. It was quiet, the early morning rush not yet started. The smell of fresh ginger and apples hit us as we walked in.

Two Berry Boosters, please - she's paying," Cleo told the barista, pointing a manicured finger at me.

We grabbed a table by the window overlooking the river. I slumped into the chair, grateful for the rest. I checked my phone. It was just past 8:00 AM.

So," Cleo said, taking a sip of her vibrant purple drink. "What happened this morning? You looked like you’d seen a ghost when you opened the door.

I told her everything - Ben’s initial refusal to wake up, the epic Poonami, Henry’s 'artistic' interpretation of my suffering.

The usual then," she laughed, shaking her head. "Ben needs a kick up the backside. He's a grown man, Mari. He’s their father. He needs to pull his weight

He does," I agreed, stirring my juice with a straw. "But he’s trying. I think. He just... gets so absorbed in his own world. But enough about my glamourous life. What about you? How’s Mr. Fireman?

Cleo’s face lit up, a genuine, soft smile replacing her usual sharp grin. "I was on the phone to Kyle until the early hours. He’s taking me out for lunch today at the Java Lounge. He’s going to be on nights for the next week at the Galencia Bay station, so it's our last chance to see each other for a while. I can't believe it's only our third date - it feels like I've known him forever!"

I'm so happy for you, Cleo," I said, and I truly meant it. She deserved to be happy. She worked harder than anyone I knew. "Just... make sure he's worthy of you, okay? No secrets.

No secrets," she promised. "He's an open book. A very hot, Italian blooded open book.

My phone buzzed on the table. I glanced down and saw a notification from the "Margarita Senoritas" group chat. It was a message from Tiana, accompanied by a screenshot.

I tapped it open.

Tiana: 'Hey girls, if this is what dating apps are all about, I’m done before I even begin. My eyes need bleaching.'

I looked at the photo she had attached. I choked on my berry smoothie.

What?" Cleo asked, leaning over. "Are you okay?

You have to see this," I gasped, tears of laughter springing to my eyes as I turned the phone toward her. "Tia’s got her first match. And let's just say... it takes 'balls' to send a first message like that.

Cleo looked at the screen - at the photo of "Greg's Big Balls" - and shrieked with laughter, drawing stares from the barista. "Oh my god. Welcome to modern dating, Tiana."

I typed back quickly. 'Just give it a chance, Ti! There might be some ballers among those ballsers.'

We spent the next twenty minutes dissecting Tiana's reaction and laughing about the audacity of men on the internet. It was nice. It was normal.

We better head back," I said, checking the time. It was getting close to 8:45 AM. "I need to rescue Ben before Henry paints the walls with cereal or teaches Harry how to dismantle the toaster." I joked.

Yeah, I need to get ready for Kyle," Cleo said, polishing off her drink. "Thanks for the juice, babe.

We walked back at a brisk pace, cooling down. As we turned onto my street, I felt the dread of the day creeping back in, but it was manageable now.

I unlocked the front door at exactly 9:15 AM.

I’m home!" I announced, kicking off my trainers in the hall. "Just need a quick shower, then I’m all yours for an hour before I need to head out to meet Tia.

Ben poked his head out of the kitchen. "Did you have fun?"

It was good," I nodded. "Just what I needed.

I headed upstairs to shower. As the hot water hit my skin, scrubbing away the sweat and the stress, I thought about the day ahead. I was supposed to be meeting Tia for lunch at Fandangos at 12 PM. But my stomach growled, loudly. The juice hadn't touched the sides, and the run had turned me ravenous. Plus, Ben had mentioned a "Boys' Day" which usually meant the house would be turning into a warzone soon. I wanted out.

I grabbed my phone from the sink and sent a quick message to Tiana.

Mari: Hey babe. Can we meet at 11 instead? I’m famished! X

She text back immediately.

Tiana: Sure chic not a problem x

I wrapped a towel around my hair. I could hear Henry shouting something about "Boys' Day" downstairs.

I smiled. 11 AM sounded perfect. An hour earlier meant an hour less of chaos, and an hour sooner to that delicious Mexican meal.