Six months later:“Ethan, don’t touch that.”“I’m not touching it.”“You’re about to.”“I’m standing.”I turn from the counter and look at him.He’s standing exactly where he shouldn’t be. Too close to the stove. Too interested in something that does not concern him.“Move,” I say.“I live here.”“That doesn’t mean you supervise.”He smiles, but he moves anyway.Good.The kitchen is warm. Not from anything special. Just… used. Lived in. The scent of garlic and herbs lingers in the air, mixing with the faint salt breeze drifting in from the open patio doors. There’s something on the stove, something in the oven, and something I’m probably forgetting.Sunny runs past us, nails clicking against the floor, then slides slightly and keeps going like nothing happened.Ethan watches him.“That dog has no balance.”“He has confidence,” I say.“That’s worse.”I check the pot, stir once, then step back.“Set the table,” I tell him.He doesn’t argue.That’s how I know we’ve grown.A few minutes l
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