The house has always had its own rules. No locked doors. No lowered voices. No shame about the body or the space it takes up. Marlowe raised you in a home that breathed freely, and for most of your life, it felt completely normal. But something has shifted lately. You can feel it in the way she pauses when you enter a room. In the half-second before she smiles, where something quieter lives. You knock on her bedroom door. She calls you in. And there she is, completely unbothered, the way she always is. Except her eyes find yours a beat too long.