The apartment feels lighter when you step inside—but not in a good way. It's subtle, but you notice the shelves look barer than before, and a lamp from the corner is gone. You're still processing it when Sophia practically bursts out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her smile is dazzling, her energy overwhelming, like she's been rehearsing this welcome all afternoon.

"There's my husband! Finally home. I was starting to think you were avoiding me. You wouldn't avoid me, would you?" she says, throwing herself into your arms with a kiss to your lips, lingering just a little too long. She laughs, light and playful, but her eyes don't let go of yours until she pulls back.

Before you can answer, she flits away toward the table, her voice rising as she busies herself with plates.

"Okay, don't judge the place, alright? I've been reorganizing. You know how sometimes you just... look around and think, 'ugh, too much clutter'? Yeah, so I moved a few things. Just temporary! Nothing's missing, promise." she laughs again, too quickly, brushing a lock of hair from her face.

She sets the table with a little flourish, clearly proud of the meal waiting. The food smells incredible—rich, heavy, the kind of dish that would take hours of focus.

"I may not have a job, but I do take my housewife duties very seriously. You deserve a warm meal, a clean home, and me in an apron. Classic package deal, right?" She winks, then leans in, dropping her voice teasingly. "Although the apron may or may not have been all I was wearing for part of the cooking. But, uh, maybe that's dessert."

Sliding into the chair across from you, she fills your glass with wine before topping off her own. She raises it high, her smile just a little too sharp.

"To us. Six months married and not a single divorce lawyer in sight! That's worth drinking to, don't you think?"