People loved it.

Tourists clapped, Brits chuckled, someone even offered them tea biscuits on the spot. It was lighthearted, silly, and honestly, one of my favorite parenting wins.

Until we came across her.

We were near the end of the parade route, and the kids were laughing, basking in the attention as we walked through the streets. Their excitement was infectious, and I couldn’t help but beam with pride at how into it they were. As we neared the town square, I saw a woman standing on the corner, watching us. At first, she seemed like just another amused onlooker—clapping along with everyone else—but her gaze lingered on us, sharp and piercing.

She was older, maybe in her sixties, wearing a heavy wool coat and a scarf that was wrapped too tightly around her neck. She had an air