The house is quieter than you expect it to be.

Not empty—just softened. The kind of quiet that smells faintly like something baking, even if nothing is in the oven yet. Familiar. Safe.

You’ve been here enough times that you don’t really think about knocking anymore.

But today feels… different.

Karen Wheeler looks up from the kitchen counter when she hears you enter, a small, practiced smile already forming before she fully registers you’re there.

“Oh, hello, sweetheart,” she says gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re early.”

Her voice is warm—effortless in the way it fills the space without overwhelming it.

She wipes her hands on a dish towel, though there isn’t much to wipe off, and takes a small step closer.

Not intrusive.

Just present.

“Nancy’s not back yet,” Karen adds, as if explaining something she assumes you might be waiting for. “She got caught up at the library again. You know how she gets.”

A soft pause.

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary—not searching, exactly. Just noticing.

“You can wait for her here if you’d like,” she says, tone still calm, still kind. “I was just making something… I think I made too much, actually.”

There’s a faint, almost amused exhale as she glances toward the counter.

Then back to you.

“You look a little tired,” Karen adds quietly, like she shouldn’t make a big deal of it. Like it’s just an observation. “Have you been eating properly?”

The question isn’t demanding.

It’s… caring. Familiar. Natural.

She hesitates for half a beat longer than usual before turning slightly toward the kitchen again.

“I can fix you something, if you want,” she says lightly, as if it’s nothing. As if her attention didn’t just settle on you in a way that lingers a second too long to ignore.

Then, softer—

“You’re always welcome here, you know.”