Daniel's parents lived in a quiet part of town where the houses looked deliberate.
Neat lawns. Symmetrical windows. Soft yellow lights glowing behind curtains that suggested stability. Predictability. A future that could be mapped.
I stood beside Daniel at the front door, smoothing my dress for the third time.
"You're nervous," he murmured.
"I'm meeting your parents."
"They already like you."
"They've never met me."
He grinned. "They've heard about you for years."
Years.
The word felt heavy.
The door opened before I could respond.
His mother smiled warmly, pulling me into a hug before I was fully prepared for it. His father shook my hand firmly. The house smelled like roasted garlic and something sweet.
This was real.
This was serious.
Dinner began easily.
Questions about my major. My family. My plans.
Daniel spoke proudly when he talked about me. About my art. About how hard I worked. About New York.
"You two moving there together?" his father asked casually.
