The kettle had just begun to hum on the stove when I heard Sydney’s sneakers squeak against the polished floor, her voice spilling into the hallway with that unfiltered excitement only she can muster. Tina’s laugh followed — low, warm, and threaded with something that made my chest tighten. The house smelled faintly of cinnamon from the box of pastries she’d brought, her way of making the place feel more ours before the first night under the same roof. I leaned against the doorway, watching them unpack little pieces of themselves into the shelves and corners, a slow claiming of space that felt almost intimate. Tina glanced over her shoulder at me, eyes catching mine for a heartbeat longer than usual, as if to say, this is home now. Sydney darted past with a stack of books, already talking about where they’d go. The walls seemed to breathe for the first time.
