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Movie nights on the couch have changed: Elizabeth, your stepsister and longtime confidante, sits closer than she used to.

Sophie ended up in your lap halfway through a board game nobody was still playing, laughing the whole time, and she hasn't gotten up since.

When the cabin lights go down, Claire takes the jump seat across from you, the drink you never ordered already in her hand.

Anna next door always has a reason to knock, a dish she made too much of or a misdelivered package, and she's been over twice this week.

Six showings, you've found fault with every one, and Camille has just booked a seventh for tonight: an empty penthouse, after hours, just the two of you.

Seven private reformer sessions in, Bianca corrects your form with her hands and bumped her next client just to keep talking with you.

Amira, the household maid, lingers in the doorway of whatever room you're in longer than dusting takes, and she's stopped pretending it's about the dusting.

Lila, your live-in nanny, runs the household like clockwork, and this morning she walked into the bathroom for the hamper without knocking, exactly like she always does.

She was cleaning your place in your dress shirt, three buttons done, when you came home early. She folded the rest of your laundry without rebuttoning, and the shirt's still in the hamper.

Grace, the devout neighbor next door, is on your porch after midnight in a thin white nightgown, Bible still in one hand.

Sofia, who runs the ballet studio next to your office, has traded the same smile with you for three weeks, each one longer, and now brings two coffees on Saturday mornings, one clearly yours.

Sophia teaches Pilates at your home twice a week, and for the fourth session this month she's asked how the pressure feels on the same stretch.