Love Burned, She Rose Unscathed

Roseanne quickly booted up her laptop the moment she stepped into her room. It wasn't long before she realized why her room felt off; she had surveillance installed for moments just like this. After a few clicks, she zeroed in on today's feed and magnified the image on

her screen. Her suspicions were confirmed when she recognized the culprit: the precious grandson of the neighborhood busybody, Mrs. Thompson.

Without wasting another second, Roseanne stormed downstairs, where she found Mrs. Thompson engrossed in the latest episode of "The Crown", her grandson's parents lounging on the couch, half-heartedly flipping through channels while munching on a bowl of chips and scrolling through their phones. And there he was, the little rascal, about to wreak havoc on Norris' newly completed jigsaw puzzle of the New York skyline.

Narrowing her eyes, Roseanne swooped in just as the child's fingers grazed the puzzle, snatching it away. "You've been in my room, haven't you? Where did you put my stuff? Spit it out now, and maybe we can forget this happened," she demanded, her voice icy and stern.

The kid, about six or seven and perfectly capable of reading the room, realized things were a bit more serious than he anticipated. His eyes darted around before he burst into tears.

"Oh, my! Why the waterworks? Come here, don't cry. Tell Mommy what happened," his mother cooed, immediately rushing to his side.

too, nobody's going to bully you!" his father chimed in, puffing

their wagons around their son. One scooped him up, while the other stood

shooting Roseanne a look of reproach mixed with accusation, as if

for my things back," Roseanne replied calmly, unfazed. "If that's what you call bullying, then

like that?" the mother snapped. "You lose your thing and just blame my kid?

Norris and Madge, having heard the commotion, descended the stairs

here is accusing our

IT

shred of evidence. If you

it for you,"

voice laced with indignation, as if he had