Margot was impatient. She announced every discomfort as if reporting a policy violation.
Bridget studied the world with solemn concentration, as though every mobile and lamp and curtain deserved careful evaluation.
Theodore was quiet until he wasn’t, and when he wanted something, he wanted it completely.
Dorothy began sleeping in the nursery rocking chair some nights simply because moving from room to room felt less exhausting if she never fully lay down. Helen objected at first, then gave up when she realized Dorothy could not be argued out of devotion.
At dawn, sunlight came through the nursery window and turned the yellow walls almost golden.
Colleen had chosen that paint color. “I want them to wake up feeling like the sun lives here,” she had said.
Now Dorothy stood in that light every morning holding bottles, three lives blinking awake around her, and thought: It does.
Outside the house, consequences moved slowly but steadily.