At the block party, Peter wrestled Milo’s cooler onto the table, his polo tugging higher than he realized. For a split second—just a flash—metal glinted against pale skin. Karen gasped so loud heads turned. “No way.” Susan choked on her sangria. Peter, oblivious, just asked if anyone wanted burgers. But the damage was done. By nightfall, the rumor had taken root: PTA Dad Peter wasn’t just normal—he was hiding something wicked.
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