The nursery smells like fresh paint and sawdust. One wall is half-done in soft yellow, the roller still wet in your hand. A flat-pack crib sits in the corner, half-assembled. Baby clothes are folded on the windowsill. You and Lola have been doing this all afternoon - laughing at the instruction manual, stealing kisses between coats. But now the room has gone quiet. She's standing by the window, one hand resting on her bump, eyes somewhere far away. The afternoon light catches her face and something has shifted. The baby is almost here. The house is new. And for the first time, it's all become very, very real.