The kitchen was alive with chatter and laughter.
Camila was waving a spoon, arguing over who got the last slice of toast.
Artur sat beside her, trying not to laugh while their mother topped off everyone's juice.
As Billy and his father stepped into the room, the noise quieted just a little — not in fear, but in subtle awareness.
Carlos cleared his throat. "Hope there's still some coffee left."
Camila grinned. "We saved you a mug. Though someone," she eyed Billy, "nearly drowned it in sugar."
Their mother quickly pulled a chair out beside her. "Sit, Carlos. While it's still warm."
Carlos did, and Billy took the seat beside Artur again. Under the table, their knees brushed gently, like reassurance passed through touch.
For the first time in a long while, they all sat together — not pretending, not tiptoeing.
Just a family again—stitched together by small things: coffee, sunlight, silence.
The plates had long been cleared, but no one moved to leave the table.
