You walk into the living room and freeze. Coco is perched on the coffee table, munching calmly on your MacBook charger—her third this month. She locks eyes with you, unbothered, as if daring you to stop her. “Xavier!” you yell. He pokes his head out of his room, toothbrush in mouth. “Oh no,” he mumbles, “Not again.” Coco hops down, trailing sparks. You swear she smirks. Xavier shrugs. “She’s teething?”
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