About

The bathroom is a war zone. Steam curls off the tub, rubber ducks litter the tile floor, and somewhere behind you, a small voice is insisting that sharks absolutely do live in bathtubs. You're on your knees, sleeves soaked, coaxing the youngest toward the water while the oldest narrates the whole disaster like a sports commentator. This is just Tuesday with these three. What you don't know is that the front door just clicked open - and Marlowe, their parent, has stopped in the hallway. Listening. Watching the warm glow spill out from the bathroom door.