At 6:17 on a cold Saturday morning in Rotterdam, the lights were already on in apartment 4B.
Outside, the street was still dark.
Rain tapped against the balcony doors.
Inside the living room, a ring light faced a small white table covered with pancakes, strawberries, brightly coloured cups, and several unopened toy boxes.
None of it was breakfast.
It was a set.
Eight-year-old Mila Verhoeven sat behind the table wearing yellow pyjamas printed with clouds.
Her hair had been curled.
Her mother, Sanne, stood behind the phone adjusting the frame.
“Smile properly this time.”
Mila smiled.
“No. Like you’re surprised.”
Mila opened her mouth slightly.
“More.”
She widened her eyes.
Sanne looked at the screen.
“Better.”
Thirty-nine-year-old Thomas, Mila’s father, came from the kitchen carrying another plate of pancakes.
“Ready?”
Sanne nodded.
Thomas placed the plate in front of Mila.
“Okay. From the beginning.”
Mila looked toward the camera.
“Good morning, everyone. Today my parents surprised me with—”
She stopped.
Sanne lowered the phone.
“What happened?”
“I forgot.”
“The line is right there.”
A sheet of paper was taped behind the phone.
Mila looked at it.
Thomas sighed.
“Come on, sweetheart. We did this yesterday.”
“I know.”
“Then again.”
Sanne pressed record.
Mila smiled.
“Good morning, everyone. Today my parents surprised me with the biggest Saturday breakfast ever.”
Thomas entered the frame.
“Because someone got an amazing school report.”
Mila looked at him.
There had been no school report.
That part had been Sanne’s idea.
Mila picked up a strawberry.
Thomas pointed subtly toward the pancakes.
She put the strawberry down.
Then picked up the fork.
“Wait,” Sanne said.
Mila froze.
“The toy boxes need to be visible.”
Thomas moved them closer.
One box had been provided by a children’s brand.
The other two had been purchased by Sanne so the table would look fuller.
“Again.”
Mila put the fork down.
The pancakes were already getting cold.
This was not unusual.
For the previous eighteen months, Sanne and Thomas had been building a family channel around their daughter.
It had begun almost accidentally.
A clip of Mila trying to bake biscuits had received hundreds of thousands of views.
Then came morning routines.
Toy reviews.
Back-to-school videos.
Birthday surprises.
Shopping challenges.
Funny punishments.
“Dad chooses my outfit.”
“Mum says yes to everything for twenty-four hours.”
“Mila reacts to her old baby videos.”
At first, Mila loved it.
She liked opening packages.
She liked seeing herself on the phone.
She liked when strangers recognised her at the supermarket.
But the videos gradually stopped fitting around family life.
Family life started fitting around the videos.
Sanne had reduced her hours at a dental clinic.
Thomas had left his warehouse job six months earlier.
The channel now paid most of the rent.
It also paid for their car.
The new sofa.
A summer trip to Spain.
And, as Thomas regularly reminded people, Mila’s future.
At 6:48, they finished the breakfast video.
Mila ate two bites of cold pancake.
Then Sanne checked the time.
“Upstairs.”
Mila looked at her.
“Can I finish?”
“You can eat after.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“We have to shoot the bedroom one before the light changes.”
