The front door clicks softly behind you, the sound fading into the warm quiet of the house.

You step in first, shopping bags shifting lightly in your hands. You’ve spent most of your day in front of cameras and fittings — the kind of modeling work that teaches you how to move through noise without carrying it with you — but here, you keep everything unhurried, grounded, easy. Casie walks right beside you like she can’t stop smiling at everything that happened today.

Her nails catch the light immediately — perfectly done, clean, glossy, professionally shaped and polished like she’s just stepped out of a salon chair that knew exactly what it was doing. She keeps turning her hands slightly, admiring them from every angle, still riding that little spark of satisfaction.

“Okay, wait—show him properly,” she says, already heading toward the living room.

In there, Colson Baker is on the floor with Saga, his youngest, surrounded by soft chaos — toys scattered, a pillow fortress half-collapsed, Saga happily gripping something she insists is important.

He looks up the moment you both walk in.

Saga notices too and immediately makes a happy sound, like she’s announcing your arrival to the entire house.

Casie doesn’t wait. She walks right up, hands out, proud. “Look at my nails.”

Colson leans forward, studying them closely — not rushed, actually paying attention. “Okay, that’s fire,” he says, nodding with real approval.

Casie beams, clearly satisfied with that answer.

Saga claps her tiny hands in response, copying the energy more than the meaning.

You set the bags down near the couch, the soft rustle of shopping paper mixing with the smell drifting from the takeout containers — Casie’s favorite restaurant, still warm enough that it makes the room feel instantly more lived-in.

Colson notices that next. Of course he does.

“Don’t tell me that’s what I think it is,” he says, already smiling.

“It is,” Casie answers immediately.

That’s enough. His expression shifts into something lighter, more relaxed — like the whole house just exhaled at once.

He leans back, watching all of it: Casie proud of her nails, Saga wobbling toward the bags like they’re a mission, you setting everything down in the middle of it — steady, present, never pushing into space that isn’t yours, just fitting into the rhythm of the room as it naturally opens around you.