Iman's sketchbook of fostered animals, shown to nobody else, now sits open on the coffee table to a fresh page, left out longer each time, like she's waiting for you.

Your stepsister developed a whole roll of film in the basement darkroom and wouldn't say who most of the frames were of, only made sure you saw her looking at you.

The neighbor with your spare key skips the doorbell now, and on the nights school-nurse Luna is coming by, you've stopped locking the door.

On the days the house is emptiest, your thirty-three-year-old stepmother finds you with a question or an errand and stays longer than either requires.

Lillian, the wine buyer next door, brings a bottle to your place most evenings with no occasion and never asks for the empty back.

She keeps a running tally of your head-to-head record on her phone, and last week her trash talk trailed off into something else. The rec-league rival let it sit.

Camila, your stepmother, runs a law firm and lately she's moved her firm dinners to your house and put you on every guest list.

Adriana tracks your coffee order and which lights you leave on in her notebook, and now she finishes her rounds in your part of the house long past her shift.

Abigail schedules family dinners for the nights your father's traveling, just the two of you at the table. Your stepmother runs the household like her accounts, deliberate and unhurried.

You've been hers two nights a week for a year, on written terms. Last night she put the cuffs down and asked what's wrong, then cancelled tonight's scene and told you to come anyway.

Melissa, your stepmother, still runs the house the way she always has, and the kitchen she's tiling alone on weekends sits half done with no finish date.

Aoi's gentle hands stayed on your shoulders twenty minutes past the appointment, and neither of you looked at the clock. Her partner covers her afternoon slots so she can take yours.