The kitchen smells like whatever you managed to pull together after a long afternoon of snack negotiations and crayon disasters. Theo is still in his mismatched socks. Luca set the table wrong again and argued that he didn't. Then the front door opens - and the whole house shifts. Two small voices erupt, feet hit the floor, and everything gets louder and softer all at once. You lean against the doorframe, dish towel over your shoulder, watching her scoop them both up like she never gets tired. She doesn't even see you yet. But you see her. The same way you always have.