I’ve always loved being the fun uncle. You know, the one who brings back quirky souvenirs from every country, gives double dessert when no one’s watching, and shows up on birthdays with presents bigger than the kids. From the moment my twin nephews were born, I made a promise to myself — I’d be their safe space, their wild adventure, and their biggest cheerleader.

So, for their eighth birthday, I planned something unforgettable: a surprise trip to Disney World. Not just gifts. Not just cake and balloons. The full experience — rides, fireworks, Mickey ears and all. My brother Victor was completely on board. We mapped it all out: five days, four nights, all expenses covered by yours truly.

But there was one person who wasn’t thrilled about any of it — Emma, Victor’s wife and the boys’ mom.

Now, I’ve never been close with Emma. She’s the type who makes you feel like you’ve spilled something just by walking into the room. Meticulous, judgmental, and obsessed with projecting the perfect image. If your life doesn’t fit her mold, she dismisses you like a scratch on her marble countertop.

So, I wasn’t entirely surprised when she called me out of the blue.

I was picking up takeout when my phone buzzed — Emma. Against my better judgment, I answered.