The second morning felt quieter than the first.

I woke to the low sound of the coffee machine downstairs and the pale light coming through the guest room curtains. For a moment I forgot where I was. Then the silence of the house settled over me again — no parents arguing through the walls, no sharp voices, just the steady, careful quiet of someone else living carefully around me.

When I came downstairs, Daniel was already at the kitchen counter, reading something on his tablet. He glanced up as I entered. The look lasted only a second, but it was steady.

“Morning,” he said. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Thank you.”

I poured...