June stirred once, her tiny hand reaching up to grab my collar, her knuckles pink and steady against the cotton.

I didn’t check my phone or listen for footsteps in the hallway.

There were no stray receipts tucked into messenger bags on the floor, no hidden texts sent from under steering wheels, and no whispered phone calls around corridor corners.

The house held a stillness I hadn’t felt since October, clean and simple.

When the front door opened at half past five, the sound was calm and unhurried.

The brass key clicked in the deadbolt, followed right away by the quiet metallic snap of the key ring sliding onto the hook by the door.