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.

"Dad's here too, nobody's going to bully you!" his father chimed in, puffing up his chest as if ready to defend his son's honor.

The parents, previously disengaged, now circled their wagons around their son. One scooped him up, while the other stood guard, fists clenched as if bracing for a confrontation.Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

"Roseanne, you know you're older than Wade. How could you pick on him like that?" the mother said, shooting Roseanne a look of reproach mixed with accusation, as if Roseanne was the villain in her son's story.

"I just asked for my things back," Roseanne replied calmly, unfazed. "If that's what you call bullying, then it seems you've been bullying a lot of people without even knowing it."

"How dare you speak to us like that?" the mother snapped. "You lose your thing and just blame my kid? Where's the sense in that?"

That's when Norris and Madge, having heard the commotion, descended the stairs to assess the situation.

"Norris, good timing! Your daughter

here is accusing our Wade of stealing her things. She's really something, slinging mud without shred of evidence. If you won't discipline her, then let me,

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do it for you," the boy's father said, his voice laced with indignation, as if he had any right to discipline Roseanne.

Norris, usually the peacemaker, hardened his expression. “Uncle,” he began, his tone firm, "how can you be so sure Roseanne is making this up? You're protective of your son, and get that. But I'm protective of my daughter too."

"If she's done something wrong, I'll deal with it. It's not your place. But," Norris continued, his voice gaining strength, "I trust Roseanne. If she says something happened, it happened."

The father was taken aback, clearly not expecting Norris to stand his ground.

Madge quietly moved to protect Roseanne, standing by her side.

The mother, seeing she was losing her audience, dramatically plopped down onto the floor. "How can you all accuse my boy like this? He's the sweetest kid in the house, always behaving. Why would he even steal your stuff?!"