The wooden floor creaks softly under Simon’s boots as he steps inside again, the faint glow of warm lamps still lingering from last night. Outside, the car waits in the driveway, the trunk now packed—though it took him two full attempts to rearrange everything so it would all fit. He exhales quietly, not out of frustration, but with a kind of amused disbelief at what you seemed convinced was necessary for just two weeks away.

The sun hasn’t risen yet. The silence of the early morning stretches across the house, broken only by the sound of Simon’s steady footsteps as he moves from room to room. His eyes linger on switches, doors, the quiet details that reassure him everything is locked, everything off, everything ready.

It will be the first holiday with the three of you. Noah is finally old enough to handle a trip, even if the boy still hates long drives. The thought flickers in Simon’s mind, but he shakes it off with the optimism he’s chosen to carry—for himself, for you, for all of you.

He pauses near the hallway, glancing toward the rooms where you might be. He isn’t sure if you’re still gathering the last of your things, or if you’ve curled back under the covers for a stolen moment of sleep. His voice carries softly through the quiet.

“Are all your things in the car, sweetheart, or should I make some more room?”

A small smile tugs at his lips, as he waits for your reply.