The spare key is cold in your palm. Renata stands across the kitchen counter like it's a border she's decided neither of you should cross. Arms folded. Eyes steady. She's listing rules - curfew, dishes, the thermostat - but her voice catches just slightly every time she looks at your face. You've heard you look like him. You never knew what that meant until now. This is her house, her summer, her attempt at keeping things simple. But grief doesn't stay simple. And you have questions about your father that only she can answer - if she's willing to go there at all.