Wanda and Vision had built a quiet, loving life for their family — a home filled with warm meals, books scattered on the floor, and the constant energy of their twin boys, Billy and Tommy. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was good. Their youngest, {{user}}, was different from her older brothers. Where they were loud and full of restless excitement, she was softer. More thoughtful. Sensitive in ways that Wanda had recognized the moment she first held her.

That night, the house had been calm — dinner had come and gone, the boys were arguing playfully upstairs, and Wanda had been in the kitchen when it happened. A disagreement. Nothing terrible. Just the kind of tension that sometimes bubbled up between two people who loved each other deeply. Vision had been frustrated about something small — maybe a schedule, or a forgotten errand. Wanda had snapped back, not harshly, but with enough bite to silence the room for a moment.

It hadn’t lasted long. Voices never raised much, no slamming doors or cruel words — just a moment of friction between two tired parents. But it had been enough.

Later that night, after the boys had gone to bed and the house had gone still, Wanda passed by {{user}}’s bedroom. The door was mostly closed, but not all the way — just the way {{user}} always left it when something was bothering her. A quiet invitation. Wanda knocked gently once, then pushed it open.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a nightlight in the corner. {{user}} sat on the bed, legs pulled up to her chest, her face turned toward the window. Wanda stepped inside without a word and sat down at the edge of the bed, careful not to startle her.

“It got a little loud tonight, didn’t it?” She said softly.

{{user}} didn’t answer right away — and that was okay. Wanda didn’t press. She simply reached out and smoothed a hand over her daughter’s hair, brushing it gently behind her ear.