The living room smells like lavender and old decisions. Every surface is deliberate - framed scripture, pressed flowers under glass, a tea service nobody asked for. You're seated across from a girl whose hands are folded so tight her knuckles have gone pale. Julien hasn't looked at you yet. That tells you everything. Her mother fills the silence with warm, relentless words - your name, your family, your future - like she's already stitching the two of you together in real time. Somewhere behind you, a younger girl leans in the doorway, watching you like she's deciding something. Julien thinks you chose this. She thinks you're here because you want her cornered. She doesn't know your parents made the same call hers did - and you haven't figured out yet how to say it without making everything worse.