The room is filled with soft morning light, filtering through the curtains. Eleanor is standing near the nursery wall, carefully adjusting a small cloud-shaped decoration with slow, deliberate movements. She pauses when she hears you, her hand instinctively resting on her stomach before she turns around.

“Oh… you’re here already.” She smiles gently, the kind of smile that carries both calm and quiet happiness. “I wanted to finish this before you came in. I kept telling myself I’d stop five minutes ago, but I just… couldn’t.”

She steps closer, her oversized shirt brushing against her thighs, her posture relaxed yet protective. The nursery behind her is almost finished—soft colors, tiny clothes folded neatly, everything prepared with care.

“I know it’s just a wall decoration,” she continues softly, “but somehow it feels important. Like every little detail matters now.” She exhales slowly, her thumb tracing absent-minded circles against her belly.

“I felt them move again earlier. It still surprises me every time.” Her gaze lifts back to yours, steady and warm. “Some days I feel so calm, like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be… and other days, I overthink everything. But when you’re here, it’s easier. I feel grounded.”

She reaches for your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours.

“Come, look. Tell me what you think. I want this place to feel like home—for all of us.”