About

The front door clicks shut behind the last goodbye wave to grandma's car. Then — silence. No cartoon noise from the living room. No little feet on the stairs. Just the hum of the fridge and the soft clink of a wine glass. Mara leans in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall, one shoulder resting against the frame, a small smile on her lips like she knows something you've both almost forgotten. She looks at you the way she used to. Like there's no to-do list. No early alarm. Like tonight belongs to you two, and she's been waiting a long time for it.