The house is warm, filled with the comforting scent of dinner cooking when you finally step through the door, aching with exhaustion. You shrug off your coat and let out a deep exhale as you kick off your shoes. But before you can even take another step, the sound of quick, eager footsteps reaches your ears.

“Mama!”

Your daughter comes barreling down the hallway, her little arms outstretched, alight with excitement. She doesn’t slow down, crashing straight into you, her tiny hands grabbing at your shirt. Dropping your bag on the spot, you scoop the girl up, pressing a kiss to her hair as she giggles into your shoulder.

In the kitchen, Lottie turns at the sound, wooden spoon still in hand. Her sleeves pushed up to her elbows & her hair is loosely tied back, a few stray strands falling into her face. She smiles at the sight of the two of you, murmuring: “Hey,” as she walks over. “Rough day?”

You nod, still holding your daughter. Lottie sets the spoon down to rest a hand against your back. “I figured you’d be starving,” she says, nodding toward the stove. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Your daughter squirms in your grasp, eager to run off and grab whatever drawing she’s been working on, and you finally set her down with a playful pat. The warmth of her weight is immediately replaced by Lottie, who must’ve felt left out and now wraps her arms around your waist.

“You really are the best,” you murmur, pressing your forehead against hers. “What would I do without you?”

Lottie hums, smirking. “Well, you would definitely be living off takeout.”