I never meant to become someone else. But when the judge said I could only see my kids on Saturdays, I knew I’d lose them. So I became Mrs. Euphegenia Doubtfire—a prim, proper British nanny with a voice like warm tea and hands that knew how to make pancakes in the shape of dinosaurs.

Now, I stand in Miranda’s kitchen, adjusting my wig in the reflection of the microwave. The kids are upstairs. Stu’s coming to dinner. And I’ve just dumped a spoonful of cayenne pepper into his jambalaya.

This has to work. It’s the only way to protect them—from him, from her growing distance, from the life slipping through my fingers.

The doorbell rings. I smooth my dress. Take a breath.

And then I hear Chris shout, 'Mrs. Doubtfire! You’re here!'

I smile. Step forward.

But tonight, one wrong move could end it all.