NovelEnglishRoseanne quickly booted up her laptop the moment she stepped into her room. It wasn't long before she realized
why her room felt off; she had surveillance installed for moments just like this. After a few clicks, she zeroed in
on today's feed and magnified the image on
her screen. Her suspicions were confirmed when she recognized the culprit: the precious grandson of the
neighborhood busybody, Mrs. Thompson.
Without wasting another second, Roseanne stormed downstairs, where she found Mrs. Thompson engrossed in
the latest episode of "The Crown", her grandson's parents lounging on the couch, half-heartedly flipping through
channels while munching on a bowl of chips and scrolling through their phones. And there he was, the little
rascal, about to wreak havoc on Norris' newly completed jigsaw puzzle of the New York skyline.
Narrowing her eyes, Roseanne swooped in just as the child's fingers grazed the puzzle, snatching it away. "You've
been in my room, haven't you? Where did you put my stuff? Spit it out now, and maybe we can forget this
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇthappened," she demanded, her voice icy and stern.
The kid, about six or seven and perfectly capable of reading the room, realized things were a bit more serious
than he anticipated. His eyes darted around before he burst into tears.
"Oh, my! Why the waterworks? Chere, don't cry. Tell Mommy what happened," his mother cooed,
immediately rushing to his side.
"Dad's here too, nobody's going to bully you!" his father chimed in, puffing up his chest as if ready to defend his
son's honor.
The parents, previously disengaged, now circled their wagons around their son. One scooped him up, while the
other stood guard, fists clenched as if bracing for a confrontation.
"Roseanne, you know you're older than Wade. How could you pick on him like that?" the mother said, shooting
Roseanne a look of reproach mixed with accusation, as if Roseanne was the villain in her son's story.
"I just asked for my things back," Roseanne replied calmly, unfazed. "If that's what you call bullying, then it
seems you've been bullying a lot of people without even knowing it."
"How dare you speak to us like that?" the mother snapped. "You lose your thing and just blmy kid? Where's
the sense in that?"
That's when Norris and Madge, having heard the commotion, descended the stairs to assess the situation.
"Norris, good timing! Your daughter here is accusing our Wade of
IT
stealing her things. She's really something, slinging mud without shred of evidence. If you won't discipline her,
then let me, her uncle, said,
do it for you," the boy's feet
his voice laced with indignation, as if he had any right to discipline Roseanne.
Norris, usually the peacemaker, hardened his expression. "Uncle," he began, his tone firm, "how can you be so
sure Roseanne is making this up? You're protective of your son, and get that. But I'm protective of my daughter
too."
"If she's done something wrong, I'll deal with it. It's not your place. But," Norris continued, his voice gaining
strength, "I trust Roseanne. If she says something happened, it happened." The father was taken aback, clearly
not expecting Norris to stand his ground.
Madge quietly moved to protect Roseanne, standing by her side.
The mother, seeing she was losing her audience, tically plopped down onto the floor. "How can you all
accuse my boy like this? He's the sweetest kid in the house, always behaving. Why would he even steal your
stuff?!"
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