Anna POV
This particular morning, I came downstairs and stopped in the doorway.
The sitting room was wrong.
Not dramatically wrong — nothing thrown, nothing broken. Just shifted. The sofa had moved three feet toward the window, angled slightly to catch the morning light. The armchair was gone from its corner entirely, repositioned against the opposite wall where the side table used to be, and the side table was somewhere it had never been, sitting between the sofa and the fireplace like it had always lived there.
Natalie. It had to be Natalie — she had been in a rearranging mood all week, the hallway console had moved on Tuesday, the dining chairs were suddenly two inches closer to the table — but Natalie was six months along and hadn't been able to move anything heavier than a cushion
