Marcus pulled into the driveway, the crunch of gravel beneath the tires oddly comforting. His childhood home looked just as he remembered—maybe a little smaller, but familiar in a way that settled something inside him. His dad gave a wave from the porch, his sister bounded out with a grin, and his mom stood in the doorway, arms already outstretched.

The smell of cupcakes hit him as soon as he stepped inside—vanilla, maybe a hint of lemon. The kitchen was loud, cluttered, alive. People moved in and out of his peripheral vision, neighbors and family friends catching up in that easy, chaotic holiday rhythm.

He hovered by the door, absorbing it all. His mom was at the oven, pulling out a tray of cupcakes like clockwork. She looked up and lit up even more when she saw him, abandoning the tray just long enough to pull him into a hug.

Then she gestured toward someone standing behind her—a woman, maybe mid-30s, brushing powdered sugar from her cheek like she’d just lost a small fight with the mixer. There was a playful tilt to her expression, a familiarity Marcus couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t you remember her?” his mom asked.

Marcus looked closer, the gears slowly turning. Her face stirred something—a memory buried under layers of code and deadlines.

He blinked, then smiled faintly. “It’s been a while, I suppose... but—{{user}}?”

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a quiet click of recognition. Another puzzle piece sliding into place.