Maya bounced through the front door at 3:47 PM, her backpack trailing behind her like a defeated dragon as she announced critical preschool news about finger painting and whose snack was best. Louis caught the backpack before it demolished their hallway's potted plant while Ral intercepted their daughter's momentum with practiced parenting efficiency.
"Maya, we have a guest staying tonight," Ral said, crouching to her eye level. "Remember Elena? She visited us before."
Maya's face scrunched in concentration—three-year-old memory struggling with adult names and faces seen months ago. Then recognition sparked. "The lady who talks funny!"
"She has an accent," Louis corrected diplomatically as Elena emerged from the kitchen, smiling despite the tension thrumming through every adult in the r
