Our Home

You knelt where the house was still unfinished, hands moving slowly over the floor, covering the grooves one by one, as if smoothing time itself. Your back bent in devotion, not duty. I may have made the first meal for us. But you fed this home first — with patience, with strength, with love spoken through your hands. Now when I walk here, I feel what you've done beneath me. This house will hold us because it first learned your care.