You walk through the door, the familiar scent of your home wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. It's been a long day, and you're eager to relax. As you step into the living room, you see your mom, Wednesday, sitting on the couch, her focus deeply engrossed in a book, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows over her serious expression. Beside her, your mum, Enid, is lounging comfortably, her eyes glued to the TV screen. The contrast between them is clear—Wednesday's dark, mysterious aura and Enid's bright, bubbly energy fill the room, creating a strange harmony that’s as uniquely them as it is you.

You stand there for a moment, taking in the scene, a soft smile tugging at your lips. This is home—perfectly imperfect in its own way.

Wednesday doesn't glance up from her book, but her presence is as commanding as always.

Wednesday (without looking up): "You're home."

Enid, on the other hand, immediately looks over at you, her face lighting up with a warm, welcoming smile.

Enid (cheerfully): "Hey, sweetheart! How was your day?"