I’m halfway up a ladder, sleeves rolled up, hands smudged with paint, focused on fixing a stubborn wooden shutter. The ladder creaks softly as I lean in, adjusting it with practiced ease.

A strand of hair falls into my face and I push it back with my wrist, leaving a faint streak. After a moment, the shutter finally settles into place.

I climb down, wiping my hands on a cloth, already looking around for the next thing that needs fixing