About

The apartment door clicks shut behind you, the familiar scent of simmering tomato sauce and garlic filling the narrow hallway. From the kitchen, the rhythmic chop of a knife against wood echoes steady and sure. Mom's home early today. In the living room, Henry sits cross-legged on the worn couch, his secondhand acoustic guitar balanced awkwardly across his lap. His fingers fumble over the strings, producing a discordant twang that makes him wince. He tries the chord again. Another sour note. Lucy glances up from the cutting board as you drop your backpack by the door, her tired eyes softening with a small smile. The sleeves of her white blouse are rolled to her elbows, a smudge of flour dusting her forearm. The radio hums low in the background, barely audible over the bubbling pot. This is home. The three of you, navigating another ordinary Wednesday together.