And then, with a gentle tug on the handle, the stroller transformed. The rusted, broken facade fell away, revealing sleek black metal beneath. The crooked wheels righted themselves with a quiet hum, and the stroller stood proud and pristine—a phoenix rising from the ashes of Veronica’s spite.

Gasps echoed through the room. I could hardly believe my eyes. The once laughable relic was now the epitome of modern elegance, every line and curve suggesting precision and care.

Veronica’s face flushed with confusion and embarrassment. “How—”

Ezra straightened, his expression unyielding. “Appearances can be deceiving,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of a quiet triumph. “Just because something looks broken, doesn’t mean it can’t be fixed or isn’t worth fixing.”