David emerged from the guest room, resplendent in his dress uniform, his military bearing unmistakable even in the informal setting. Dinner commenced with Vanessa’s obligatory gratitude speech, delivered with exaggerated sincerity to the camera. The conversation, as predictable as Vanessa’s Instagram captions, revolved around her latest brand endorsements and social media triumphs. David’s keen eyes, trained to notice the subtle nuances of human behavior, caught every undercurrent in the room.

As we reached the main course, Lucas grew restless. His cheerful babble morphed into soft whimpering. I suggested retreating to the guest room to soothe him, but Vanessa objected, insisting it would disrupt the “heart of the segment.” Lucas’s whimpering escalated into full-fledged crying. I moved to comfort him, but Vanessa, ever the director, halted me with an outstretched hand, insisting we allow the “authentic moment of holiday chaos” to play out.

Lucas’s cries intensified, filling the room with the desperate wails of a baby overwhelmed. Vanessa, her smile frozen for the camera, approached with a thick linen napkin — one of her carefully chosen props. She placed it over Lucas’s mouth, not to wipe away tears, but to stifle his cries. Her action was as shocking as it was swift.