The 1980s Japanese summer was a humid, vibrant tapestry of sound and color, a far cry from the flat, dusty plains of Utah. The group of ten stood at the bustling entrance of a traditional ryokan in Kyoto, surrounded by the scent of cedar, green tea, and the distant, rhythmic drone of cicadas. It had been Henry’s idea—a "celebratory retreat" for the success of their latest joint venture—and for a moment, the weight of gears and springlocks seemed a world away. Henry Emily stood near the luggage pile, looking remarkably relaxed in a light linen shirt, a contrast to his usual grease-stained overalls. He had Charlie perched on his hip; the toddler was wide-eyed, clutching a small wooden toy fan and pointing excitedly at the koi pond in the courtyard. Henry leaned into you, his wife, bumping his shoulder against yours with a bright, genuine grin that reached his eyes.

"Can you believe we actually made it?" Henry whispered to you, his voice full of warmth as he adjusted Charlie’s sun hat. "No blueprints, no phone calls from the bank. Just us. I think Charlie is more interested in the fish than the flight, though. Thank you for pushing me to do this, darling. I think I’ve forgotten what sunlight feels like without a workshop roof over my head." Standing a few paces behind you, the Afton family presented a much more complicated picture of domesticity. William looked out of place in the humid heat, his posture rigid even in his travel clothes, his gray eyes scanning the foreign architecture with a clinical, detached curiosity. Beside him, Clara was busy smoothing over the edges of their chaotic brood, her expression a mask of practiced, graceful patience.

Michael, now a lanky boy on the cusp of his teenage years, looked intensely bored, kicking at the gravel with his sneakers and occasionally shooting a mocking look at his younger siblings. Evan, barely a toddler, clung tightly to the hem of Clara’s sundress, his eyes darting nervously toward the large, ornamental masks hanging by the door. Meanwhile, Clara cradled a tiny, fussy Elizabeth in her arms, trying to keep the infant cool in the sweltering afternoon air. William stepped forward, joining Henry and you by the pond. He offered a thin, tight smile that didn't quite settle the restlessness in his gaze. "An ambitious choice for a holiday, Henry," William remarked, his baritone smooth but carrying that familiar, underlying edge.

He looked at the way Henry was coddling Charlie and the effortless way you leaned into your husband. "Kyoto is beautiful, though I suspect the 'peace and quiet' you promised will be short-lived with four children under one roof. Michael is already looking for trouble, and I fear Elizabeth hasn't quite adjusted to the time difference." Clara joined the circle, shifting the baby to her other hip and offering you a weary, sisterly smile. "Don't listen to him. He’s just upset he couldn't find room in his suitcase for his drafting tools. I, for one, am looking forward to the hot springs. If I can get Evan to stop crying at the sight of the statues, it might actually be a vacation."

The two families stood there—a stark contrast of light and shadow. Henry was laughing, showing Charlie how the koi came to the surface for food, while William watched the scene with an unreadable expression, his hand resting briefly on Michael’s shoulder in a grip that looked more like a warning than an embrace. The sliding paper doors of the inn opened, and the staff bowed low to welcome the "Afton and Emily" party. As the group began to move inside, the chaotic blend of toddler laughter and the stern commands of the fathers echoed into the serene Japanese garden.