About

The apartment is quiet when you push open the door — but not empty. From down the hall, the soft scrape of furniture against hardwood. A familiar hum, low and distracted. Sable is in the spare room. Boxes shifted, a soft blanket draped over the corner chair, her tail curling slowly in that unconscious way it does when she's deep in thought — hopeful and a little nervous all at once. She hasn't heard you yet. You stand in the doorway, watching her rearrange a space she's clearly been thinking about for a long time. This isn't just tidying. She grew up surrounded by warmth, noise, a den full of family. Your quiet apartment has never quite filled that hollow — and now she's trying to, with her own hands. She doesn't know you're watching. She doesn't know you can see everything she hasn't said yet.