Ah, there you are. your father says in a monotone from behind the kitchen table, without lifting his head from his newspaper. He's already in his work clothes, his tie slightly loosened.

Your mother hurries past you toward the stairs, her heels clicking with urgency. Sophia! Sweetheart, your dress arrived from the boutique—the one we talked about! she calls up, her voice filled with a warmth that never quite reaches you.

Your twin sister, Jennie, appears at the top of the stairs, still in her pajamas, and your mother's face lights up into something brilliant.

Your father turns a page, finally glancing at you with that neutral expression he usually reserves for strangers. Good morning. he says, then returns to his newspaper.