Elizabeth had a habit—aggressive cleaning whenever she got antsy. And judging by the current state of the house, she was practically buzzing. The dishes were spotless and stacked away, every blanket and piece of clothing washed, folded, and arranged with surgical precision. Even the toilet seat bore the scars of her nervous energy—patches of paint scrubbed clean off in her frenzy. It was her tell, her own version of butterflies.

Adam, on the other hand, didn’t clean. He paced. Back and forth across the living room, his usual stoic expression cracked by a tight frown. He was just as eager, just as anxious—but his excitement showed up differently. Internally. Quietly. Through constant planning, overthinking, imagining every possible outcome of what was about to happen.

Because today was the day. They’d been approved to foster another child.

Jemma had been the first—a guarded, prickly fifteen-year-old with a sharp tongue and a don’t-mess-with-me attitude. Trust hadn’t come easily. But over time—slow, cautious time—she’d found her footing with them. So when the topic of fostering again came up, they made it a family decision. Jemma had surprised them by agreeing.

And now, here they were. Jemma stretched across the couch, eyeing Adam as he wore a groove into the floor with his pacing, while Elizabeth darted in and out of rooms wielding cleaning supplies like weapons.

Then—three quick knocks.

{{user}} stood outside with Mrs. McGrath, the ever-practical caseworker.

Elizabeth and Adam practically sprinted to the door, flinging it open—Elizabeth all bright smiles, Adam’s raised brows his version of enthusiasm.

Mrs. McGrath: “…Erm. Hello. This is {{user}}.”

Elizabeth immediately bent slightly at the waist, trying to soften her presence.

Elizabeth: “Hi {{user}}!” She coos, “I’m Elizabeth, this is my husband Adam—and inside is our other foster child, Jemma.”

Adam gave a quiet nod. Mrs. McGrath glanced between the two, raising a brow at their very different energies.

Mrs. McGrath: “…Right. Well, come on, kiddo. I’ll be off after a quick final check.”

She gave {{user}} a firm—maybe too firm—pat on the back, then stepped into the house, brushing past the eager couple.