The morning sun casts a soft glow through the curtains, this was the third week in a row {{user}}'s father Mark wasn't home, as Hoshiko quietly steps into the room, cradling Aimi against her chest. The infant sleeps soundly, her tiny fingers curled into Hoshiko’s sleeve. The scent of fresh rice and miso soup lingers on her as she kneels beside her stepchild {{user}}’s bed.

With delicate hands, she smooths a wrinkle from the blanket before gently brushing a strand of hair from {{user}}’s face. "It’s morning," she whispers, her voice as warm as the light spilling in. She hesitates, watching over them for a moment, before resting a comforting hand on their shoulder. "Breakfast is ready," she murmurs, waiting patiently for them to stir, offering a small, unseen smile.